


Balance the Force:  Grand Master

by Lilith Sedai (TAFKAB)



Series: Balance the Force [5]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Clan feuding, Grey Jedi, M/M, MACE HAS A HEADACHE, Political Intrigue, tying up loose ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TAFKAB/pseuds/Lilith%20Sedai
Summary: Qui-Gon must face a challenging task to prove he has recovered from his ordeal, if he wants to take his rightful place as Obi-Wan's lover and as Grand Master of the Gray Jedi.Reading order:  Galactic Gladiators, Rogue Jedi, Dark Apprentice, Uneasy Allies, Grand Master





	1. Chandar

**Author's Note:**

> Dedication: I would like to dedicate this story to Michele, hsv, Merry Amelie, cwgirlup75, ob1mcgregor, Kalujinn, Travis, Diane, Chalsedony, OracleRose, Bant, Obi-Ki, Stellaetoil, Laura, Writestuff, Catnip/Greenie, and others whose expressions of kindness and support are largely responsible for my final decision to publish it. Thank you!

Obi-Wan Kenobi knelt on his bedroll, meditating. Tree-filtered sunlight dappled his face and a faint scent of wood smoke teased his nostrils. He barely noticed, his mind far away, submersed in his memories of Geonosis. In them there there was no sunlight and the smoke stank of burning plastic and hot metal. 

In his mind he replayed his part in taking down Master Dooku. He had contemplated this moment a dozen times, each time the same: Windu wounded and out of the battle, Yoda fighting hard and tiring, Obi-Wan slinking up behind the embattled master, unseen, and beheading him without warning, offering no quarter. 

There had been little of the Dark Side in it. Obi-Wan had felt no anger or fear, no desire for revenge: merely a cool practicality. Dooku was a fearsome master of the blade, allied with the Sith, and the threat he represented justified the use of deadly action. One might even say it had been the will of the Force. 

Nevertheless, Obi-Wan regretted stabbing the man in the back without warning. It was not an act of honor or bravery ('a Jedi craves not these things,' his conscience chided him in Yoda's voice), nor was it particularly one of cowardice. Still, it troubled him sufficiently that he kept returning to it, working to convince himself that it held nothing of the dark. 

He had not reached even for positive emotion to enhance his skills; he had not needed to. And yet he knew now that he would have done whatever it took, if pressed. He had to face the darkness within himself and learn to live with the knowledge that he would use the Dark Side if he must. He knew the taste of rage and the exultant power of it swelling inside him. He had experienced the heady thrill of giving in to his fury and his fear, letting them use him to devour and destroy. He knew the bloodlust inspired by their siren call and the burning of his desire to listen. 

The blood-hot surge of shame from his admission shattered his peace, ending his meditation. The bitter adrenaline left his face red and his mouth tingling with a metallic, electric taste upon his tongue. 

Obi-Wan shivered despite the warm sun and humid air of the forest that surrounded him. He opened his eyes, blinking at the fire pit before his knees. 

If his conscience tormented him over a few minutes' wrath, justly focused on eliminating the greater evil of Palpatine, how much worse did Qui-Gon fare? How much louder were the sirens that sang to him? 

He rose, stretching his back and thighs methodically, and reached for the insulated handle of the kettle that steamed over the fire. He poured himself a mug of hot tea to savor before he sought his bedroll. The arranhar were nocturnal by nature, so he had adjusted his own schedule to coincide with Qui-Gon's. Every few days Qui-Gon visited the camp, arriving at dawn, and curled up next to the fire. He slept there until night fell, whereupon he promptly returned to the woods. It didn't look like today would bring one of his visits. 

Sipping his tea, Obi-Wan keyed the boarding ramp and strode up into the ship, deciding to make a report to Yoda before he slept. 

He was surprised to find a message from the Grand Master already awaiting him when he sat down at the comm console. He started it, settling in to listen. 

"Knight Kenobi." Yoda looked up at him from the small holopad. "On Coruscant am I, recording this between sittings of the Senate. Much controversy have we to manage. Chancellor Palpatine's death sends ripples through the galaxy. Laud him as a hero, some do. The great peacemaker of our time." Yoda's mouth pursed as if he had bitten something very sour. "This impression the Senate wishes to foster. With reluctance, the Jedi will not contradict it." 

Obi-Wan shook his head, a soft gasp of disgust escaping him. 

"Little benefit would there be, and much conflict, in trying to expose the truth. He is gone. Senator Organa of Alderaan will run to replace him. A good choice, he would be. Perhaps he will be chosen." Yoda tapped thoughtfully at the floor with his stick. "Fortunate, it is, that Dooku did not survive; a faction exists that would have put him forward. Much support, I think he would have found." 

Obi-Wan scratched at his beard, grimacing. That would have been a disaster; it was time to give up his guilt over dispatching Dooku. 

"Concern you excessively, these things should not. Your time, this is, for healing. For finding your center. Know something, I do, of the struggle you face." Yoda's expression softened. "Both yourself and Qui-Gon. Think not, Obi-Wan, that any Jedi can live for 800 years and never be tempted by the Dark Side." He tilted his head, his face sober. "Strong you are, and strong you must be to turn from it. As must I." He cleared his throat. 

"Look forward to your reports, I will. May the Force be with you." 

He vanished and Obi-Wan smiled sadly at the space where his image had been. He prepared to record a message of his own, composing himself and considering his words, then pressed the button and began to speak. 

"Master Yoda, your transmission is appreciated. Troublesome though some of your news is, I understand the reasons behind it. But much you say comforts me. I believe I have the strength you mention, and I will continue to work to center myself and find peace with what occurred on Geonosis." 

He hesitated for a moment, preparing his words. 

"I know you are concerned for Qui-Gon as well. Unfortunately, I have less progress to report there than you might wish. As I mentioned in my previous report, Qui-Gon maintains a place of equilibrium inside himself, one that is not of the dark, and he inhabits it. This encourages me. 

"He still spends most of his time running with the arranhar. It's effective as a centering technique. I think it allows him to achieve emotional neutrality. Since we last communicated, I've pursued the pack on two occasions and observed their hunting from a distance. After the manner of beasts, the cats are aware of neither good nor evil even in moments of violence, killing to eat rather than for pleasure, pursuing all basic biological functions for survival without the ulterior motives of a sentient species. They place no expectations on him. In their company he can allow himself simply to be, to live in the moment, while experiencing no psychological or moral pressures. 

"When he returns to our camp, as he does infrequently but regularly, he speaks little but he attends to me when I talk. I give him food and a bed and replace his clothing as needed. I appreciate your attention to my requests in that matter; please pass on my thanks to the quartermaster. The leathers the courier brought for him are ideal, and they've prevented him from sustaining a multitude of superficial scratches and injuries of the sort he was incurring daily before they arrived." Obi-Wan hesitated, wondering how much more detail was needed, and decided to press on. 

"He's made no move to renew intimacy between us. I suspect he feels guilt over our last encounter, when Darth Mallaigh passed the taozin nodules to me. For my own part, I bear no resentment against him for that, yet I'm content to wait until the time is right. Our previous experiences were prompted by necessity as much as by affection. I would prefer any future intimacy to be more personally satisfying." He let his mouth quirk upward in a wry smile. 

"I'm afraid I can't project a timetable on Qui-Gon's recovery. I trust King Tiran is helping with the administration of the Xinune Compound, and I have faith that the senior knights and masters are equal to the task as well. Still, if you have news of their activities please transmit it with your next contact. It might be beneficial to speak of it to Qui-Gon when he next visits my camp." 

He bowed his head with respect for Yoda. "I'll report again in a tenday or as soon as there is new information to pass along. Thank you for your indulgence in this matter, Master Yoda, and may the Force be with you." 

Obi-Wan terminated the recording and transmitted it, then allowed himself to yawn. Scrubbing his palm through his hair, he rose and went back down the ramp, re-sealing the ship. He peeled off his tunics and tossed them over a branch for morning. 

Chattan was sitting on Qui-Gon's bedroll, staring out into the forest. The cat seemed at home on this world, foraging in the woods where he caught and ate a variety of small game animals, primarily rodents. However, he showed no signs of abandoning the camp and no fondness for the much larger feline arranhar, remaining with Obi-Wan while Qui-Gon ran with the hunt. 

"I don't think he's coming to visit us today," Obi-Wan told the cat, receiving a flat green stare in return. He yawned and settled into his bedding, closing his eyes, and drifted off to sleep. 

*****

When he swam back to consciousness, it was with a sense that he was being watched. He squinted against the sunlight; directly overhead, it dazzled his eyes. 

He rolled to his side and blinked at Qui-Gon, who sat on his haunches across the fire pit, idly ruffling Chattan's fur and watching him sleep. 

Obi-Wan sat up, trying to smile and yawn at the same time, and wound up feeling ridiculously childish. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and succumbed to the temptation to stretch the sleep out of his muscles. 

"It's good to see you," he greeted casually, aware that his heart was speeding up under the intensity of Qui-Gon's regard. "You look well." 

Qui-Gon did; the abundance of the Living Force on Chandar made the place an ideal environment for him. His aura, deep emerald green, fit in smoothly with the energy of the verdant wilderness around them, and his supple brown leathers showed no sign of soiling, but merged subtly with the dark tones of woodland and earth as if he had arisen from the soil where he stood, part and parcel of the land. 

Qui-Gon arose, an easy surge of muscles, and beckoned Obi-Wan to follow, departing without looking to see if his request would be obeyed. 

Obi-Wan snatched for his tunics and fell in behind his old master quickly, shrugging into them on the move. This new development intrigued him. Qui-Gon hadn't previously shown any sign of wanting his company away from the camp. Always he had come to Obi-Wan on his own and departed similarly, sometimes with a flash of eyes that warned him not to pursue. 

The man could move in the forest with absolute silence; his tousled hair, growing out of its short crop, and his tanned skin gave him a feral look in spite of the well-tailored leather he wore. 

Obi-Wan kept up, guessing from the direction that they were going to join the cats. Qui-Gon's pack ranged a fairly wide territory that encompassed several favorite resting spots. The current favored one was only a couple of kilometers away where a low mountain ridge terminated in an outcrop of dark granite boulders, ideal for basking. A cascading stream tumbled from the topmost stones and pooled at the foot of the outcrop. The water hole drew a variety of game, providing easy prey for the cats as well as a convenient place to drink. 

In the lee of the ridge, the forest melted into a wide grassland where a flat granite sheet lay too close under the surface to allow trees to thrive. A variety of herd-beasts grazed there, the preferred prey of the arranhar, again conveniently adjacent to the watering hole. It could not be a more ideal situation for such a large pack; sixteen beasts required a great deal of hunting to sustain. 

Qui-Gon led him through the forest, leaping over the stream and then following it to the base of the outcrop. Obi-Wan looked up cautiously, counting the cats and finding all sixteen. Good. They might be dormant in the heat of the afternoon, but he wouldn't like to let one of them slip up behind him unnoticed, not even with Qui-Gon close at hand. 

Other than a few twitching ears and noses, the cats ignored Obi-Wan and simply slept on, lying stretched out in the sun, their claws retracted into their paws. 

Qui-Gon glanced aside at Obi-Wan, a smile stretching his lips, and Obi-Wan returned it. His old master tilted his head, another invitation to follow, then scrambled up to join the cats. As Obi-Wan followed Qui-Gon slid out of his clothing and stretched his long, lean body along the smooth surface of a water-worn boulder, his back shining in the sun. He closed his eyes, settling in to rest. 

Obi-Wan blinked, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Qui-Gon's entire body was sun-dark, his golden skin shining with perspiration from the tight leathers. The water sang softly, cascading into the pool below, murmuring and pattering as it rippled over the rocks on its way down. An insect hummed past Obi-Wan's head, wings making a drowsy drone in the hot air. His clothing felt unpleasantly heavy, hot and sticky against his skin. 

He peeled off his tunics slowly, pondering the significance of the invitation-- Qui-Gon showed no further inclination to communicate or socialize; he merely wanted Obi-Wan's company, it seemed, as he and the cats slept. 

Obi-Wan hesitated, hands at the waist of his leggings, then removed them in deference to Qui-Gon's own nudity. A sluggish breeze stirred against his skin and he thought wistfully of the pool, but decided not to climb back down to bathe. Instead, he stretched out at Qui-Gon's side. The stone was hot under his belly, baking warmth into him, making him sweat. The breeze slowly evaporated the perspiration, cooling his back even as the sun baked into it, keeping him from overheating. 

He would have to retreat into the shade before long if he didn't want to burn his skin; he was as pale as Qui-Gon was dark. But the sun was moving and the shade from an outcrop drifted slowly toward him; perhaps it would cover him soon enough. 

He put his head down on the cradle of his arms, sighing, and relaxed, enjoying Qui-Gon's quiet presence next to him. Qui-Gon seemed calm and relaxed, his eyes and aura each their proper color-- a distinct improvement from their time aboard the ship, when Qui-Gon's Force presence had been a mess, his normal vibrant green aura twisted with sickly yellow and dull red, his emotions given over to long intervals of despair and flares of sudden, inexplicable rage. 

He shifted slightly, and glanced aside, finding that Qui-Gon's blue eyes were open, fixed on him. 

"This is nice," he murmured. "Thanks for asking me to come out." 

"You're welcome." Slow and deep, the lazy rumble of Qui-Gon's voice made Obi-Wan smile. He rolled himself to his back, throwing one arm over his face. 

Qui-Gon rolled over as well, then sat up; Obi-Wan remained supine, letting him look his fill. 

He sensed Qui-Gon extending his hand before it settled on his belly, and he did not flinch when it did, sighing softly with pleasure. The hand moved, resting on his skin very lightly, an almost-timid caress that slid along his stomach, then up the center of his chest. Qui-Gon's hand moved along his arm, caressing more with palm than fingertips, as if looking to confirm the solidity of him rather than seeking the texture of his skin. 

"Mmmm," he purred softly, letting the man know the touch was welcome, shifting to ease his position on the hard stone and edging subtly closer to Qui-Gon in the process. 

Qui-Gon lifted Obi-Wan's hand and studied it, thumb settling into his palm and moving lightly there, tracing the hollow of his hand. 

"The dreams are the worst," he said abruptly, his low voice husky. "In them I'm back with the Sith, doing as he says. Feeling what he wants me to feel." 

Obi-Wan lifted his arm from his face, checking Qui-Gon's expression, which was sober but remained open. 

"Sometimes I dream he makes me seek you out and kill you." Qui-Gon's fingertips trailed across the tendons in the back of Obi-Wan's hand, then along his smallest finger, curling it down toward the palm and extending it again, testing the way it moved in response to pressure. 

"You're free of him now," Obi-Wan said softly. "He'll never hurt anyone again." 

Qui-Gon smiled, his eyes shadowed with remembered pain, and Obi-Wan closed his fingers around Qui-Gon's thumb, squeezing gently. 

"I felt what you and Yoda did." Qui-Gon's hand freed itself, then resumed its slow transit along Obi-Wan's arm. "I don't think we could have defeated him without it. Are you all right now?" 

"As all right as I suspect I can be." Obi-Wan met his eyes quietly. "My teacher told me to let the Dark Side go when its usefulness was ended. He was right." 

Qui-Gon smiled very faintly. "If it will let you go, yes." 

Together, those words were more than all the others Qui-Gon had spoken in days. When he subsided into silence Obi-Wan let him, merely sliding along the rock to lie closer to Qui-Gon's flank. Qui-Gon continued to stroke his skin gently, the motion of his fingers sensual but without erotic intent. 

"I used the taozin nodule to catch Dooku from behind, unawares," Obi-Wan murmured at length. "He'd put Windu out of commission and he was wearing Yoda down. I... it was clean and fast. _Sai cha."_

Qui-Gon nodded, not meeting his gaze, watching the tip of his forefinger as it circled the knob of bone in Obi-Wan's wrist. "He would have had my place if I hadn't beaten him to it." 

The sun flooded down as they sat in silence until Obi-Wan could feel his exposed skin starting to burn where it was most tender. He rose, stretching, and climbed down to the pool, stepping under the cascade and letting it pour over his head and shoulders. He stayed there until he felt clean and fresh, his body cool. 

Qui-Gon watched him, unmoving, as he shook his hair, slinging water everywhere. One of the cats opened an eye and glared at him in disgust, then lazily padded out of range before flopping down again. 

Obi-Wan returned to Qui-Gon's side, sitting in the shade with his back against a smooth stone, folding his legs into the lotus. His Force sense had begun to tingle at him, so he reached for his center and listened to its soft prompting. His intuition clarified slowly: the Unifying Force stirred, warning him through a vague feeling of unease, of something somewhere that was not right. 

Qui-Gon followed suit, his brow wrinkled, and Obi-Wan realized he felt it too-- more strongly thanks to his greater attunement to the Living Force energies. 

Qui-Gon's eyes flew open and he surged to his feet. 

"Get under cover," he shouted hoarsely, and Obi-Wan felt him reach out to the cats, compelling them to obey. They arose, sleek bodies thumping down along the tiered shelf of stones, and milled under the ridge, crowding beneath an overhang, their green eyes fixed on Qui-Gon, who glared up into the sky, bare as the day he was born, his lightsaber flying into his hand. 

By then Obi-Wan could feel it himself-- a ship piercing the atmosphere and powering toward them. The presences on the ship had a mercenary flavor, merciless and greedy. 

"Poachers. They're after the cats," Qui-Gon snarled, and Obi-Wan was alarmed to note that his eyes had taken a greenish cast, staring fiercely into the sky. "They have a sensor lock on the pack." 

Obi-Wan snatched his clothes and struggled back into them, leggings clinging to his wet skin, then took up the guard position as Qui-Gon reluctantly donned his own clothing. 

He could see the freighter in his mind now, a bulky Corellian ship with its cargo bays converted to heavy cages. The whistle of its passage through the atmosphere became audible. 

Qui-Gon began to climb, targeting the very top of the rise, and Obi-Wan followed him. The pulsing red was back in Qui-Gon's aura, muddying and dirtying it, and that concerned him more than a few poachers ever could. 

"They won't be difficult to handle," he tried to inject some perspective, but Qui-Gon ignored him, his long, powerful arms and legs letting him climb much faster than Obi-Wan could. 

Obi-Wan scrambled up a few minutes behind Qui-Gon and went to his side, splitting his attention between the descending ship and Qui-Gon's scowl as he watched the vessel settle into the woods not far away. 

Qui-Gon turned abruptly, descending the ridge even faster than he had climbed, leaping lightly from boulder to boulder. Obi-Wan set his jaw and followed again. 

"What do you mean to do?" he inquired not at all lightly when they reached the flat. 

"They'll be coming with stun guns and repulsorlifts," Qui-Gon spat. "I'm going to stop them." 

"Stop them or kill them?" Obi-Wan asked, his tone much lighter than his heart, and Qui-Gon shot a scowl at him from under heavy brows. "Maybe I should go instead." He did not back down, meeting Qui-Gon's stare easily. 

Qui-Gon broke first, jerking his head away, fists clenching in frustration. "Maybe you should," he gritted out and strode away, his spine painfully straight. He whistled to the cats and they melted into the grasslands together, so fast it seemed impossible they were ever there. 

Obi-Wan bit his lip, tempted to curse the poachers and his own ill-luck as he set out toward the landing site. The sooner he could get rid of the interlopers the better. 

He slid through the forest silently, not quite as easily as Qui-Gon, but the Force guided him forward nonetheless. Within a few minutes he had penetrated nearly to the ship. He leaped easily, catching the low-hanging branch of a tall tree, and climbed upward until he had a good vantage point of the clearing where the poachers had landed. His heart sank; the fuselage sported a Dramacore logo. Just what Qui-Gon didn't need. 

Obi-Wan leaned against the broad bole of the tree, alert to the noises from within the freighter. Before long servomotors whined and its loading ramp descended, disgorging a handful of tall, burly men. 

Obi-Wan blinked, his heart sinking further as the leader lifted his head to survey the forest, long blond hair swinging about his shoulders: unmistakably the man was Majnun Djinn. 

Best to take the bantha by the horns. 

He hopped down out of the tree and stepped to the verge of the clearing, standing still and waiting to be noticed. 

It didn't take long before a shout went up and he found himself facing a small thicket of blasters. Majnun stepped forward, scowling at him, and Obi-Wan spoke just before his mouth opened. 

"This planet is under Jedi protection. You will leave now." He moved his hand slightly, pushing Force at the Djinn, suspecting it was useless. 

Majnun's brow furrowed into a scowl, his dark blue eyes glaring at Obi-Wan. "Mind tricks don't work on me, Jedi. And the Republic has no authority on this world, so don't give me that Jedi protection _cac capaill."_

"The world is under my protection. We can do this the easy way or we can do it the hard way. It's your choice." Obi-Wan did not back down, calmly surveying the cold metal barrels that targeted him, listening for the whisper in the Force that would warn him before anyone fired. He felt the Dark Force stir, not far away at all. It whispered its seductive siren call and he pushed it aside with determination. 

Majnun looked at him hard, eyes calculating. "Listen, Jedi. I don't have a choice but I do have a ship full of loyal men. I'd be willing to bet that the twelve of us can take you down, but I'd rather not lose half of us trying. Now why don't you tell me what you want, I'll tell you what I want, and we'll make a deal." 

"I want you to leave here without the arranhar you plan on poaching." Obi-Wan spoke levelly, watching Majnun's eyes flare with surprise. 

"That point isn't negotiable." He folded his arms. 

"Nor is mine." Obi-Wan curled his hand slowly around the hilt of his saber, watching one of the Djinn, whose trigger finger seemed rather more twitchy than the others'. 

The finger closed and the blaster fired. In less than an instant Obi-Wan lit his blade and blocked, directing the bolt back against the ship. A low sizzle and flare of electric arc revealed that he'd caught them offguard; the ship was unshielded. 

_"Ciach ort, Jedi!"_ Majnun snapped, flinging a hand out in front of his men. "And you, hold your fire until I say!" His eyes narrowed. "What interest does a Jedi have in a few mangy cats?" 

"My interest is in preserving your lives," Obi-Wan explained smoothly. "You see, I'm not alone in my concern and my companions are much less forgiving than I. Move against the cats and I won't be held responsible for what happens to you." 

Majnun stared at him slowly, and began to laugh, a low chuckle that rumbled in his chest. "Typical Jedi doubletalk." 

"It isn't doubletalk at all, _mo dhearthàir."_ Qui-Gon's voice was low with menace, emanating from the air that surrounded them, impossible to locate. 

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth with frustration as Majnun's eyes went wide, then narrowed again, burning at him. "You," he said slowly. "You were the Jedi prisoner." He lifted his head, eyes darting futilely in search of Qui-Gon. 

"You saw what he did on Lisyl." Obi-Wan spoke quietly. "Go, or it might happen to you." 

Majnun jerked his head at his men, directing them back toward the ship. 

"This isn't over," he said, raising his voice. "Do you hear me, Ki-Gün?" He backed away nonetheless. "I need those cats to feed my people. You can't guard an entire planet. Not two of you." 

He slapped the control panel for the ramp, and vanished into the ship, which powered up and took off. 

"He's right, you know." Obi-Wan sighed. "They'll be back." 

Qui-Gon dropped to the ground next to him, all but soundless, his eyes green as a cat's. "No, they won't." He turned away-- not toward the plains, but toward Tiran's ship. "Come on. We're going to address the source of the problem." 

"You mean..." 

"We're going to Abhaile." The green slowly ebbed from Qui-Gon's eyes but the tension didn't leave his muscles. "My homeworld." He set out toward the ship at a fast trot. 

*****

When they arrived, Qui-Gon went straight aboard. He vanished into the ship and fired up the engines, barely giving Obi-Wan time to gather up their bedrolls and kick apart the fire-pit. By the time he boarded, the ship was already vibrating with the force of the thrusters and clouds of dirt and leaf were blowing everywhere. Chattan sat at the top of the ramp, sneezing, and gave Obi-Wan a baleful stare before rising and stalking away toward the crew quarters. 

Obi-Wan raked grit out of his hair, tossing the bedding aside. He went up to the cockpit, where Qui-Gon was already maneuvering them up through the canopy. 

"How will you ensure Majnun doesn't take the cats while we're on Abhaile?" Obi-Wan seated himself in the co-pilot's chair. 

Qui-Gon paused in tapping at the comm panel. "I'll call for an immediate gathering of the clans. He's a chieftain; he's honor-bound to attend." 

"You can do that?" 

"As the last full-blooded male descendent of the leaders of my clan, yes." Qui-Gon looked up, his jaw set tight. "I can." 

_But they aren't going to like it,_ Obi-Wan guessed, seeing the hardness in Qui-Gon's eyes. 

Qui-Gon lingered to send his message before pushing them into hyperspace; after he had, he sat back in the pilot's chair. The energy that had animated him faded even as Obi-Wan watched; for the space of a few heartbeats, Obi-Wan could see the man's doubts chasing themselves across his mind. 

He gathered himself after a moment, putting on a semblance of his customary serenity, but Obi-Wan understood the thinness of the veneer. He rose and set his hand on Qui-Gon's shoulder, silently offering his support while hoping not to shame the man unduly. 

Qui-Gon let his eyes close and sighed, but did not relax. "The Djinn aren't going to welcome us with open arms. Particularly not you." His hands moved restlessly on his thighs, palms moving along the smooth leather. "Offworlders aren't usually allowed on Abhaile." 

"How much do you know about the culture?" 

"A handful. Enough to get myself in trouble." 

Obi-Wan chuckled at that. Qui-Gon's shoulders felt good, the leather he wore sleek and body-hot-- he realized belatedly that one hand had become two and that he was caressing the hard muscles underneath the thin sheath of clothing. Qui-Gon's eyes slid closed and his hands stopped moving on his thighs, clenching there, very still. 

Obi-Wan paused, torn between apology and escalation, then chose neither. He squeezed softly, leaning in and brushing the lightest ghost of a kiss against Qui-Gon's temple, and departed to gather up the abandoned bedding. He folded the blankets methodically before stowing them in their places. All the while he half-expected Qui-Gon to come seek him out-- but he didn't. 

Instead Qui-Gon retreated to his bunk and stayed there for the majority of the trip. Obi-Wan was left to his own devices, so he spent the time as profitably as he could. He cooked and ate, exercised, meditated, read, or played solitary games of dejarik. He greeted Qui-Gon cordially when the man emerged to get food from the galley. His friendliness was not rebuffed, but Qui-Gon did not cultivate interaction, either, and Obi-Wan respected his desire for solitude. After all, his healing time had been forcibly cut short and he still had to come to terms with what he'd done as Darth Mallaigh.

****************************

GLOSSARY

Abhaile: Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "home." The name of Qui-Gon's homeworld, according to me, since George didn't see fit to provide us with one. Let's not quibble over whether this is the noun or the adverb form of the word, shall we? If you feel the need, just go get a nice tall pint glass of Guinness and meditate on the willing suspension of disbelief until you feel better. If that doesn't work, try it again with the same amount of Bushmill's or Jameson. If you still want to argue about grammar after that, I'll totally take you up on it. 

Anait: A Djinn guard with one of the worst job duties you could ever get stuck with. He needs a new pair of undies. 

_Cac capaill:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "horseshit." Again, if you're stressing about there not being horses in a GFFA, I refer you to SciFi shows such as "Firefly" and invite you to relax. If that fails, pretend "capaill" means "bantha." Plus, you don't need to sell me death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life. *sweeping hand gesture* 

_Ciach ort:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "damn you." 

Clan Failbhe: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. Pretty poor compared to equatorial clans, but one of the stronger ones in their immediate area. Led by Kelonaht. 

Clan Neishan: Qui-Gon's ancestral clan, now more or less extinct except for a few distant relatives who were mostly subsumed into Ruidhri. 

Clan Lathurna: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. By far the least powerful clan in their immediate area, under extreme threat of extinction due to starvation and attack from neighboring clans. Led by Sala. 

Clan Ruidhri: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. Slightly more powerful than Failbhe. Pretty poor compared to equatorial clans, but one of the stronger ones in their immediate area. Led by some guy who gets, like, two lines. He's not important. Don't stress over him. Please note: this is NOT Majnun's clan; I never gave his clan an official name, so there. 

Dejarik: A strategy game, very like chess. You saw it played when Threepio told Artoo to let the wookiee win. See Wookieepedia 

Janu: A low-class Djinn sent to pick up Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from their landing platform. Black hair, etc. Think "really tall Maori." Racially representative of Lathurna, a minority clan. 

_Ki-Gün Djinn is ainm dom. Cad is ainm duit?:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "Qui-Gon Jinn is my name. What's your name?" 

Kelonaht: Taoiseach of Failbhe. I've based him on an older Clint Eastwood, just for the hell of it. GO AHEAD, JEDI PUNK. MAKE MY DAY! 

_Mo athair:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "my father." 

_Mo dhearthàir:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "my brother." 

Sala: The taoiseach of Lathurna. His look is based loosely on Sala Baker. 

_Taoiseach:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "leader" or "chieftain."


	2. Abhaile

Qui-Gon's withdrawal left Obi-Wan plenty of time to compose a message to send to Yoda, informing him of their plans and of Qui-Gon's progress. He sent it as soon as they dropped out of hyperspace, then settled back with his fingers drumming lightly on the console as he surveyed Abhaile. 

The green disc floated serenely in the void, dominated by heavy polar ice-caps, much of the snow-pack tinted an odd brownish-grey hue. A good fraction of the planetary surface showed cyclonic activity, heavy swirls of clouds dropping rain. Obi-Wan ran a cursory enviro-scan and frowned at the results. The planet showed heavy tectonic activity along a seam in the crust-- as they crossed the terminator, he could see patches of red glow emanating from a wide crescent of active volcanoes. Vicious streaks of lightning stabbed through the ash clouds they pumped into the atmosphere from their summits. The brilliant volcanic colors sent a chill down his spine, reminding him of Palpatine. 

That many eruption events meant a tremendous release of ash, which would have serious environmental consequences for this world and would explain the color of the ice-caps. Obi-Wan keyed the intercom, patience finally giving way to necessity. "Qui-Gon, can you come up to the cockpit for a moment?" 

There was no answer but in a few moments Qui-Gon's quiet footfalls notified Obi-Wan of his arrival. "Look at that." Obi-Wan gestured at the viewscreen. "We may already have our answer as to what's wrong with the Djinn." 

Qui-Gon made a murmur of surprise as he took the copilot's seat. "You may be right. I wonder how long this has been a factor-- none of the records I've accessed indicated volcanic activity of this magnitude on Abhaile." 

"If this is an unusual phenomenon, they'll have entered a period of significant global cooling: torrential rainstorms, widespread crop failure, and increased hardships for winter existence in polar and subpolar areas." Obi-Wan tapped at the comm. "Nobody's answering our hails. We don't have landing clearance." 

"I'll have to handle that." Qui-Gon exchanged chairs with him and renewed the request. He persisted for nearly an hour, bargaining at length in the liquid language of the Djinn, before obtaining grudging permission to land. He directed their ship toward the beacon, wearing a sour twist on his lips. 

"We've been given clearance to dock on what was once my clan's territory," he explained. "It's been broken up and distributed to three others, none of which particularly want to see me return, regardless that I don't plan to challenge them for it. We were given leave to land by the smallest faction. I suspect they believe we'll be a significant inconvenience to the other two and that they may benefit from my return-- not in a gain of their own, but in the other clans incurring larger losses at my hand." 

Obi-Wan winced. Not an ideal homecoming. 

"After we land you'll have to stay close to me. As an offworlder you have no clan affiliation to protect you. You have no rights at all. If you're harmed or robbed, the law will be indifferent. If an accusation is levied against you, you'll be punished for the alleged act without benefit of trial." Qui-Gon stared at him soberly. "For this reason, if I could, I'd forbid you to make planetfall, much less leave the ship." 

"Would it help if I claimed to be your paramour?" Obi-Wan flashed him a mischievous grin. 

Qui-Gon glanced at him swiftly, unreadable. "It wouldn't. Same-sex unions are not legally binding on Abhaile, though I'm not sure how they're otherwise regarded socially. Also, Djinn law doesn't recognize sexual liaisons with outworlders." 

"What if I were your chattel?" 

"That's a given," Qui-Gon responded stiffly. "That is to say, it's how you'll be treated by the other Djinn-- and it's the only way I can claim a legal right to protect you." 

"Chattel it is, then." Obi-Wan nodded. "They'll have to pry me from your side with a crowbar." Again he tilted a mischievous grin at Qui-Gon, who only frowned in response, too worried for levity. 

"I've prepared these for us." Qui-Gon reached into his pocket and brought out broad squares of cloth, which Obi-Wan realized had been torn from sheets, neatly hemmed, and meticulously dyed with the ink from a writing stylus. "These bear my clan mark." Qui-Gon folded one into a triangle and tied it around his forehead, then arranged it so that it held back the lanky strands of his lengthening hair, the clan mark showing prominently. 

The other, its sigil much smaller, he whipped into a tight roll with the rune showing before binding it about Obi-Wan's upper arm. "A chattel isn't permitted to wear the clan sign on his skin or on his head. It's something akin to blasphemy to put a clan mark on an offworlder at all. But it will warn others that you're under my protection." 

"That's the mark from your tattoo, isn't it," Obi-Wan realized, and Qui-Gon nodded tightly. 

"I'm honored," Obi-Wan said softly. Qui-Gon blinked at him, surprised. 

"You weren't raised a Djinn, no, but I know you." Obi-Wan smiled fondly. "This mark is important to you. You'd value the Djinn culture even if you hadn't been born into it. And I know, too, that you don't burn your bridges lightly." He adjusted the band slightly, pushing it higher up his arm. "You want this culture to accept you-- and what's more, we need it to so we can help them. I'll do my best not to damage your standing." 

"You're a fine Jedi, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said softly. 

"So are you," Obi-Wan spoke firmly. He raised a quelling hand to forestall Qui-Gon's swift breath of disagreement. "And you always have been, no matter what the Council may have thought at one time." 

"Master Raksen did you no favors in condemning you the way she did," Obi-Wan continued. "She's one of Dooku's long-time adherents, I suspect, as Master Bulq was. If you'd actually returned after Lisyl, of course the Council would have scolded you, but the Order would have welcomed you back and helped you recover." He regarded Qui-Gon for a long moment. "Yoda still considers you a Jedi, you know. He left the head chair vacant for you on Xinune. We all did. You are the de facto leader there." 

Qui-Gon's eyes widened, then he frowned, studying his hands carefully as he considered a reply. "When I left Xinune there were no Jedi in residence. Those whose path led them from Coruscant to Xinune follow Yoda's leadership and your own. Not mine." 

"They will follow you one day." Obi-Wan felt the Unifying Force singing with the truth of his words. "They know we followed you." 

Qui-Gon inhaled, a long, slow breath, and Obi-Wan saw his shoulders straighten subtly with pride and resolve. 

He suppressed a smile, returning to the controls. "We've got turbulence upcoming; there's a cyclone in our flight path. Strap in." 

The storm was enough to rattle their teeth, but as they emerged from its leading edge the atmosphere lit up with gold, clouds shading through every hue to deep cherry red and purple where the light faded near the terminator. 

Obi-Wan whistled softly. "Incredible," he murmured, smiling at Qui-Gon. "I suppose it's all the particulates in the air." 

Qui-Gon nodded absently, sparing a brief glance for the display but keeping most of his attention on their descent as they tracked the homing beacon to their landing platform. "We'll be arriving shortly. Sensors indicate the region is in mid-spring cycle with a current temperature a degree or two below the freezing point of water. Expect sleet." 

Obi-Wan nodded. "You'd better get some warmer clothes on, then; leather's a terrible insulator. I'll handle the descent." 

"Call me up here if we need to speak to anyone." Qui-Gon slipped out. 

Obi-Wan allowed himself a wide smile now that Qui-Gon wasn't there to see it, wondering precisely what his old master would think of the rest of the clothing Yoda had seen fit to send for him. He was irritated with his discovery, if the sound of doors thumping from the crew quarters was any indication. 

Obi-Wan chuckled quietly, finessing the trajectory as they sailed into cloud cover again. Sleet began to rattle on the viewscreen, but there wasn't much warmth in the atmosphere so the turbulence was more lateral than vertical, strong winds buffeting them. 

He sensed rather than heard Qui-Gon's return and resisted turning to look, squinting instead through the reduced visibility to make out the lights of a landing area. All he found was a single flashing beacon. He let the autopilot steer them in and the ship settled itself near the lighted pole, landing gear engaging with the characteristic dull thump of metal on earth rather than the sharp clang of metal on metal. 

"We're here, I think." He turned at last and found Qui-Gon standing uncomfortably behind him, once more clad in the layered tunics and robe of a Jedi Master. Yoda had even remembered his preferred shades of color, and he looked very like the master of Obi-Wan's memory except for his shorter hair and the addition of the clan kerchief he wore around his forehead. 

Qui-Gon frowned at the warmth in Obi-Wan's eyes, looking away with embarrassment. 

"You look good." Obi-Wan rose briskly. "I'm afraid we haven't been met." 

"There's a settlement two kilometers away." Qui-Gon held out a data pad. "I scanned the area as we descended. There aren't any maps in the Republic databases, but we'll have this to work from, at least." 

"It won't be an enjoyable walk in this weather and we've no local currency." 

"The Djinn value precious metals and gemstones in addition to government currency." Qui-Gon reached into his pocket and held out a small pouch. "I took the liberty of raiding Tiran's private cache." 

"I should have known he'd be prepared." Obi-Wan grinned. "Though I suppose we're at risk of paying for our night's hostelry a hundred times over if we can't make change." 

"This seems a calculated insult. Sent to the end of nowhere, in the sleet, not to be met." Qui-Gon shook his head. "We aren't walking." He sat down at the comm. 

It took another hour during which Obi-Wan grew steadily more concerned by Qui-Gon's shortening temper, but at last he raised an answer-- an actual person, not merely recordings or text. 

"My apologies, _taoiseach._ We were dealing with a raid." The voice that answered Qui-Gon's hail sounded harried. "Someone will be out to transport you shortly." 

"We'll be ready," Qui-Gon bit off the words and shook his head, terminating the transmission. He turned to Obi-Wan, visibly releasing irritation. "We won't go out until they arrive." 

The transport that finally growled up through the sleet was primitive, ground-based, and rode on tracks rather than wheels. Gathering Obi-Wan with a look, Qui-Gon let down the ramp and they strolled out into the cold together. 

Qui-Gon folded his arms, seeming serene, waiting beneath the overhang of the ship until the driver got out of the transport and dashed over, shielding his head from the sleet. He dressed much like Majnun, but he was swart, his face brown under long dark hair and heavy brows. 

"Your presence honors us," he said to Qui-Gon, shaking moisture off his hair. "I'm Janu. Will it please you to accompany me?" 

"Certainly." Qui-Gon acknowledged. "Come, Obi-Wan." 

The Djinn's gaze darted to Obi-Wan, carefully noting the mark tied about his sleeve. His eyes flashed with an unfriendly light but he didn't speak, turning to rush back to the transport. They followed him through the sleet and soon settled into the rear seat of the transport, which jostled them roughly as they turned toward the settlement. 

"I was supposed to come out to get you earlier, but Failbhe launched a raid on our stores and all able-bodied men were called to defend." He addressed the remark solely to Qui-Gon. 

"Are such raids common?" Qui-Gon kept his voice neutral. 

"I'm afraid they are. When none have enough to eat, rules of polite society and clan alliances go by the wayside. Failbhe know they're stronger than we are, so they believe they can take whatever they will." 

"Your stores consist of?" 

"Livestock and preserved foodstuffs. We lost half our herd-- most of them females carrying calves. Without them more of our people will starve next winter." 

Obi-Wan winced at the matter-of-fact tone in the man's voice. 

"Crops have been failing, I assume, leaving you dependent on meat to survive." 

"Yes, when we can get it." The man slewed the transport around, skidding on the sleet and narrowly avoiding a tree. "I'm afraid you'll find our hospitality short. We've no fuel for the fires, either-- fortunately this is a temperate day. High spring, you know." His voice thickened with irony. 

"That won't be a problem," Qui-Gon assured him. "I'll make do." 

They skidded their way into the settlement, plowing through what Obi-Wan judged would be ankle-deep mud in the streets, and stopped in front of a ramshackle stone building. Its windows were glazed but cracked. 

"We get earthquake activity even here, sometimes." Janu ushered them in. "I'm afraid our _taoiseach_ won't have time for you yet. I'll return to bring you before him later this evening." 

"Thank you, Janu." Qui-Gon nodded to him, regal. When he departed, the two of them examined their lodging. 

"He wasn't kidding about the accommodations," Obi-Wan muttered. Not only were the windows broken, but daylight showed through the stone wall in places where mortar had crumbled. The floor was made of earth, mostly dry except under a leak in the roof, and a single moldy cot stood on one side of the room. It was long enough for Qui-Gon, though it would be extremely narrow for two. An empty fireplace completed the decor, its throat streaked with soot, but there was no wood anywhere to be seen. 

Qui-Gon reached into his pack and pulled out a small area heater, setting it near the cot. "Would you care to gamble on who gets the floor?" 

Obi-Wan shook his head. "That would be the chattel's place." 

"We could share the cot," Qui-Gon suggested, his voice suddenly hesitant. "That is, if you don't mind." 

"It'll be very close quarters." Obi-Wan stepped over, trying to hide the sudden flush of arousal that slid over him. "But I think we might fit if we cooperate." He chuckled suddenly. "Do you still snore?" 

"Like a rancor, I assume." Qui-Gon shook his head. "Is that really the worst of your worries?" 

"Yes," Obi-Wan answered him immediately, voice soft. "It is." 

"You'd sleep with the last Dark Lord of the Sith." Qui-Gon's eyes searched his, uncertain. 

"I already had sex with him. It wasn't so bad I wouldn't try it again." He let a lopsided smirk escape. 

"Rape isn't a joking matter." Qui-Gon turned away quietly. 

"Darth Mallaigh didn't rape me." Obi-Wan stepped up behind him. "Even a Sith can't rape the willing. I seem to recall you noticed that at the time." 

"You're too charitable." 

"And you aren't a Sith anymore, if ever you were." Obi-Wan put steel into his voice. "Trust in Yoda's judgment if you won't trust mine." He paused. "I'll gladly sleep on the floor if it makes you uncomfortable to share. But I'm not afraid of you." He slid his hand into the crook of Qui-Gon's elbow, pulling him around, forcing the man to meet his gaze. "Guilt isn't a productive emotion and yours is unfounded in this case. Let it go, Qui-Gon." 

Qui-Gon swallowed hard, lifting his hand, and cradled Obi-Wan's cheek in a tentative caress, thumb brushing near his lips. Obi-Wan let his eyes close and turned to kiss it, mouthing softly at the pad, listening to the slow hiss of Qui-Gon's breath as he inhaled. He could feel the man teetering on the razor's edge of control, but did not want to break it. Qui-Gon needed to re-learn his self-discipline and Obi-Wan would not press him to move before he was ready. 

He opened his eyes and subsided, letting his heart shine in his open gaze. Qui-Gon stared at him for a long moment with lips parted, eyes hazy with desire, before his hand fell. 

A tap at the door broke the spell; they separated and Obi-Wan answered the knock, standing behind that door as he opened it and allowing Qui-Gon to take the lead. 

A stranger stepped through: an older man with a hard face. Like Qui-Gon, he sported blue eyes and a tall, strong frame, but there was no redeeming softness to his face. 

"So the renegade _taoiseach_ returns." He surveyed Qui-Gon coolly. "You've become one of the Republic's enforcer thugs, I see. With another in tow." His eyes evaluated Obi-Wan as well, lingering for a moment on the band he wore that bore Qui-Gon's sigil, then dismissed him. "You've come to tell us we can live together in a world of peace and plenty if only we accept offworld rule, no doubt." 

"Becoming a member of the Republic is not a condition for receiving humanitarian aid, nor does joining the Republic require helpless submission to the Republic's rule." Qui-Gon faced him calmly. "It gives qualifying worlds a voice in the Senate and the right to protection as needed." 

"Abhaile needs no protection." 

"Abhaile needs humanitarian aid and guidance in developing agricultural resources that won't fail in colder climes." 

The man's eyes grew flinty. "So you, all but an outworlder, think you can call all the chieftains together and show us what fools we are by providing simple answers to our problems." 

"You're free to take whatever label you wish." Qui-Gon didn't back down. "I would only label you a fool if you won't accept your brother's help when you need it." He paused. _"Ki-Gün Djinn is ainm dom. Cad is ainm duit?"_

"Kelonaht." No friendliness leavened his tone. _"Mo'r_ Kelonaht, _taoiseach_ of Failbhe." 

"It's my pleasure and privilege to meet you." Qui-Gon gave a polite half-bow. "I look forward to working with you for the good of Abhaile and our kinsmen." 

Kelonaht scoffed and walked out without another word, leaving Qui-Gon to shake his head with frustration. 

"I wonder if he orchestrated the raid on Lathurna," Obi-Wan murmured softly when the man had entered his transport and gone. 

"I'd say there's at least a 50% chance," Qui-Gon acknowledged. "The raiders must have represented either Failbhe or Ruidhri. I don't like seeing so much enmity here. If we're to succeed in helping the Djinn we'll need to help them overcome clan hostilities and persuade them to work together. They won't be able to accept outsiders until they accept one another." 

"If they're all as stubborn as you that'll be an uphill fight." 

"They're going to need a demonstration of good faith, something to give them hope, and an incentive to unite," Qui-Gon murmured thoughtfully. 

"Do you have something in mind?" 

"Yes, if I can arrange an opportunity." He would say no more, so they settled in to meditate while waiting for Janu's return. 

The Lathurna clansman arrived well after nightfall, still seeming agitated. 

"My _taoiseach_ will see you now." He ushered them out, driving them a surprisingly short distance down the settlement's main road to a lodging only slightly larger than their own, though it seemed in better repair. 

He ushered them in and left them standing in a half-furnished, candle-lit anteroom where another swarthy Djinn sat at a battered metal desk, holding a writing stylus and studying a paper ledger with a faint air of well-controlled desperation. 

He set it aside after a long moment, looking up at them. A thin line creased his brow as he surveyed Obi-Wan, and it deepened when he moved to Qui-Gon. 

"Ki-Gün. I am Sala, who leads Lathurna. Why have you come back to Abhaile?" He cut through any pretense at pleasantry, standing and moving from behind his desk. "They say you are Jedi. This means little to me; I have no information on your outworlder ways. But for a vanished clan chieftain to resurface, and to call a gathering-- I would like to feel hope, but I have none left in me after today's raid." 

"I am both Jedi and Djinn. I mean to bring you hope and more." Qui-Gon stepped forward, crossing his wrists and offering to clasp the _taoiseach's_ hands. He received a matching clasp in return though the man eyed him warily. 

"Why have you brought an outworlder with you, one wearing the sigil of a Djinn clan?" He did not include Obi-Wan with as much as a glance. 

"He assists me. I require his services frequently." Qui-Gon glanced aside to Obi-Wan. "The sigil lets others know he is under my protection." His voice sank half a tone lower, a subtle, implicit threat. 

Obi-Wan remained unruffled, agreeing with the summary in all important essentials, but did not speak since he had not been addressed. He might as well be invisible, he thought wryly, but it didn't really sting-- he'd feared far more hostile treatment than this. 

"Rumor has it you are a sorcerer capable of great destruction." Sala faced Qui-Gon courageously, his fear evident only in the defiant tension of his posture and the pugnacious tilt of his chin. 

"I am a Jedi," Qui-Gon repeated quietly. "I am capable of many things in service of both war and peace. I hope to demonstrate some of the latter for you so that you will trust me and support me in my quest to help our kinsmen." 

"What would you do to aid the Djinn?" 

"Whatever I may. But let us begin with a demonstration." Qui-Gon stepped forward and took up a small item from the _taoiseach's_ desk-- a wooden seal, meant for marking documents by impressing a carved design into hot wax. He held it in his hand, closing his eyes. 

Obi-Wan felt the Living Force stir and closed his own eyes, the better to feel what Qui-Gon was doing. The master channeled energy into the wood, which began to swell, absorbing water out of the air-- and then pushed forth branches from the tiny knotholes in the grain, which slowly sprouted green leaves that curled out toward the light of the tallow candle. 

"Your sorcery is impressive." Sala's eyes glittered in the candlelight as he lifted the seal from Qui-Gon's palm, ruffling the leaves with his fingertip. 

"Do you still have seed to plant your fields?" 

"We do." 

"I would consider it a personal favor if you will invite the leaders of the other local clans to come to the fields nearest this town at dawn tomorrow. Bring enough seed to sow a field that covers as much ground as this settlement. To show my good faith, I will ensure that tomorrow night your entire clan will sleep with full stomachs." 

"Can you grow enough food that way for our entire planet?" Sala's eyes gleamed. 

"I cannot," Qui-Gon admitted. "But I have other methods of helping. If the clans will accept my guidance in this, I can arrange for food deliveries to feed everyone until crops can be raised. I can see to it that you plant crops that do not die when it frosts and raise beasts that will bear two calves when others carry only one-- and that will put on more meat even though they require less food to thrive. Highly advanced medical technology is available, too, far beyond what the Djinn have developed-- all of these things are possible without Abhaile having to join the Republic. Jedi scientists may even be able to reduce the tectonic activity that is changing the climate." 

"We will not accept charity from offworlders." 

"Will you let your children die of starvation instead?" 

Sala looked away at that, his face somber. "I will summon the other leaders as you ask." He turned abruptly and went back to his work. "Janu will come for you in the morning." 

Qui-Gon bowed and collected Obi-Wan with a glance, and they went out. 

"That went rather better than I'd hoped," Obi-Wan commented as soon as they were back in their lodging. "I didn't know you could do things like that." 

Qui-Gon colored faintly and he looked down at his feet. "I could have revived the wood of the seal even when you were my apprentice, I think. But cultivating an entire field would have been beyond me, at least before we--" he fell silent, making an apologetic, half-embarrassed gesture. Obi-Wan blinked, rapidly realizing which memory Qui-Gon planned to access for aid in manipulating the Living Force so powerfully. 

"I'll definitely look forward to providing assistance tomorrow, then, if you need it." He couldn't hold back his amusement and anticipation; Qui-Gon's eyes rose and locked with his, a spark of desire crackling tangibly between them. 

"Shall we go to bed?" Obi-Wan dared to step up, brushing his fingertips against Qui-Gon's face. "You'll need your rest before attempting such a feat." 

"You're right," Qui-Gon agreed. "Do you plan to let me sleep?" His voice was soft, his breath warm against Obi-Wan's fingers. 

Obi-Wan felt his insides whirl delightfully-- the moment felt perfect; Qui-Gon was very much himself, warm and gentle, and he was so tired of hesitating! "I think you'll sleep very well if I do what I have in mind-- and I believe you might find it very helpful in the morning." He stepped slightly closer, nuzzling gently at Qui-Gon's throat. 

Qui-Gon paused at that and pushed him back just enough to look at his expression, a faint frown line forming on his forehead. "Obi-Wan, that's not why I want--" 

"I know it isn't," Obi-Wan silenced him, lifting his face to brush Qui-Gon's mouth with a kiss: a soft touch of lips, slow and shallow, but sweet. 

"We haven't much room, but I'd like to show you something." Without warning he felt diffident and shy, both terribly young and also shamefully jaded, knowing he would be drawing on the experience he had gained during his time as a prisoner of Dramacore and feeling soiled by it suddenly-- not wanting any hint of that ugliness to lessen the moment for Qui-Gon. "It's something you ought to love; I don't think you could manage anything quite like it in your toy room--" words suddenly failed him, and he avoided Qui-Gon's gaze. 

"It's all right," Qui-Gon murmured softly, sensing Obi-Wan's shame as it shivered a discordant note through the Force energies that surrounded them. "Don't think about that. Be in the moment with me." Qui-Gon stroked his hair, leaning in to press a kiss against his forehead. 

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, pushing away his nervousness and smiling up at Qui-Gon as he gently pushed him back, guiding him down to sit on the edge of the cot. He knelt gracefully before his old master, slipping between his knees, and tilted his face up for a kiss, which Qui-Gon gave-- slow and sweet, teasing Obi-Wan's mouth open with his tongue and exploring gently inside. The kiss ebbed and flowed for long minutes, liquid heat building between them until Qui-Gon broke it at last, nibbling softly at Obi-Wan's lower lip once, then again, before pulling back. 

"My Obi-Wan..." Qui-Gon's voice had hoarsened, and he raised his hand. It shook as it cupped against Obi-Wan's cheek, caressing his face. Qui-Gon's eyes were soft and dazed, pure sapphire blue; his mouth half-open, tongue wetting his lower lip. 

"Yes." Obi-Wan took courage from the love and vulnerability in Qui-Gon's expression. He slid his hands under Qui-Gon's robe, moving it off his thighs. He slowly unfastened the clasp of his one-time master's belt, sliding it off and setting it aside on the floor. The portable heater baked a comforting warmth into his back, and he eclipsed its golden light, leaving most of Qui-Gon's body in soft shadow. 

He removed Qui-Gon's sash, folding it and setting it on the foot of the bed, then gently opened his master's clothing-- long stoles, outer tunic, inner tunic, soft layers of growing warmth parting to let him in. 

Qui-Gon's bare belly was warm under his hands, and he gently leaned in and kissed it, dipping his tongue into Qui-Gon's navel and tasting salt there. The big man jerked, a breath catching in his throat; his hands fluttered near Obi-Wan's head, unsure where to settle. 

Obi-Wan drew back, sliding a hand down to run his palm along the thick ridge that stretched Qui-Gon's leggings. Qui-Gon groaned deep in his throat and a shudder ran through him. His hands finally settled on Obi-Wan's shoulders, still trembling. 

Obi-Wan bent and reverently kissed along the cloth-covered shaft, breathing heat through the thin fabric, working to build Qui-Gon's anticipation. He could feel a faint damp spot over the tip, so he licked the cloth there, letting Qui-Gon see his tongue move against the fabric. Qui-Gon's hands tightened unconsciously on his shoulders and his body shuddered as he struggled against the urge to thrust. 

Obi-Wan nipped lightly as he moved back upward again, barely letting his teeth be felt, each slow, delicate bite making Qui-Gon's hips jerk. He stroked his hands along Qui-Gon's thighs, loving the feel of taut muscle and tightly harnessed power in the big body, basking in the knowledge that he would be the first to do this for Qui-Gon. 

"Lift your hips," he purred, and slid Qui-Gon's leggings down to his knees. He deftly managed the waistband, keeping it from tangling with Qui-Gon's cock-- which bobbed up eagerly when he freed it from its prison, nudging softly at his chin. 

He caught the thick shaft in his palm, laughing softly. "Hello there," he purred, and licked across the bitter-salt tip before Qui-Gon could anticipate what he might do. 

Qui-Gon groaned out loud, his hips jerking reflexively; Obi-Wan re-settled himself comfortably, replacing his hands on Qui-Gon's thighs to hold him in place. 

"My master," he murmured, gazing up, and their eyes locked. He dipped his head, softly resting the head of Qui-Gon's cock on his lower lip, and held Qui-Gon's gaze as he went down, slow and steady, opening his throat to take the thick erection fully, finally nestling his nose into the wiry thatch of hair at the base. 

Qui-Gon gasped and his hands fluttered free again in a silent frenzy of sensation, then settled on Obi-Wan's head, thumbs stroking his temples and his jaw, feeling how it stretched to accommodate him. 

Obi-Wan remained still for a long moment before he pulled back up, sucking firmly as Qui-Gon slid out. He let the head lie on his tongue for a long moment, then began to fuck his own mouth with Qui-Gon's cock, a slow, patient rhythm-- inviting Qui-Gon's hands to guide him, to speed his pace. 

Qui-Gon moaned softly, thighs shifting with restless want, but his hands remained passive. Obi-Wan slowed his pace, humming softly around his mouthful. 

"Please," Qui-Gon gasped, his voice a husk of breath. "Please, Obi-Wan..." 

Obi-Wan slid back up, fluttering his tongue, strumming at the sensitive spot just at the base of the head, then withdrawing and teasing around the foreskin with his tongue, dipping inside as much as he could. 

"Show me how you want it. Use your hands," he murmured, kissing the tip. "You won't hurt me." He slid one hand under Qui-Gon's balls, rolling them softly in his palm, then slipped back down over Qui-Gon's cock, moaning his pleasure at tasting Qui-Gon, his mouth stretching as Qui-Gon filled his throat. 

Qui-Gon stroked his face, fingers threading into his hair, and he gently pressed Obi-Wan down, then freed him to rise again. After a few moments they found a rhythm. Obi-Wan purred to feel those hard hands guiding him, his own erect cock beginning to ache inside his leggings as passion built. "Mmmm," he moaned, but would not release Qui-Gon's flesh again, licking at the shaft as he rose and fell, his lips wet, salt and heat filling his mouth. 

Qui-Gon's breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling; Obi-Wan gazed up at his face, rapt. Qui-Gon's lashes were wet, his eyes shut; his face looked younger, transformed with pleasure, his mouth open and his tongue visible as he licked his lips again and again, visibly struggling to contain the sounds he wanted to make. 

Obi-Wan gently squeezed Qui-Gon's balls and sucked harder; Qui-Gon rewarded him with a desperate cry, bucking up. Obi-Wan stilled his head, inviting Qui-Gon to fuck his mouth. After a moment's hesitant surprise Qui-Gon complied, thrusting his hips up, his hands tightening, the left bracing behind Obi-Wan's neck and the right cradling his skull, trembling fingers splayed. 

Obi-Wan whimpered, his cock surging-- he craved this, craved Qui-Gon's power, his mastery, and his strength. He brought his hands behind Qui-Gon's ass, urging him on, and Qui-Gon surrendered with a low cry, pushing harder, raising himself to his feet and tipping Obi-Wan's head back. 

Obi-Wan moaned and opened for him, bracing his hands behind Qui-Gon's thighs. They quivered under the strain, his motion growing fast and jerky. Obi-Wan managed to open his eyes in time to see Qui-Gon's face when he came, his wild cry loud in the small chamber, his body locked in shuddering spasms as he spent himself in Obi-Wan's throat. 

Obi-Wan swallowed eagerly, kneading Qui-Gon's ass, loving the abandoned look on his face-- the pure beauty of his surrender, the strength and glow of the Living Force filling his aura, the vulnerability of him even as he held Obi-Wan prisoner within the cradle of his powerful hands. 

At last Qui-Gon recovered enough of his wits to remember Obi-Wan needed to breathe and he hastily drew back. Obi-Wan followed, gently milking the last drops from him, savoring them, letting them wet his lips, blissfully licking Qui-Gon clean as he watched and panted for breath. 

He smiled up at his old master, sultry, his own erection half-forgotten in the wonder of watching Qui-Gon's pleasure; for a moment it had almost slipped his mind that they were no longer master and padawan. 

Qui-Gon drew him up and crushed him in a hug so fierce he thought his ribs might break. He nestled his body against Qui-Gon blissfully, pushing his still-needy cock against one bare, solid thigh. 

Qui-Gon reached for him, taking his mouth, but then drew back, momentarily startled by the unexpected taste of himself on Obi-Wan's lips. 

"Sorry," Obi-Wan grinned, unable to help himself, but Qui-Gon's eyes darkened and he kissed him again in spite of it, hand sliding into Obi-Wan's leggings and wrapping around his needy cock. 

Obi-Wan moaned at the feel of the big hand wrapping around him, eyes closing, and he spared a last moment of coherence to regret the tiny cot, wishing they could lie down together and simply forget everything except the need to love one another. 

Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan upright and onto his lap, both of them wary of the rickety cot and the awkward angle. He stroked slowly, as if testing the heft of Obi-Wan in his palm. "I've grown too used to toys," Qui-Gon breathed against his ear. "I never knew how good you would feel." 

Obi-Wan moaned, lifting his hips for more, and Qui-Gon kissed the moans from his lips, inhaling his breath. He seemed to remember how Obi-Wan had guided him before, and he settled into the same pattern-- rather slower, teasing him, drawing it out. 

Obi-Wan's hand caught his wrist, fingers tightening with a mute plea, and Qui-Gon speeded his strokes gradually. His tongue explored in Obi-Wan's soft mouth, thrusting into him-- a quiet promise for the future. 

Obi-Wan quickened for him, pushing his hips up urgently, and Qui-Gon wrapped his free arm around Obi-Wan's back, holding him upright as their muscles began to tremble with strain. 

"Please," Obi-Wan whimpered against his lips, and Qui-Gon took mercy on him. He tightened his hand, tugging up relentlessly, quick and hard and strong, his callused thumb sliding over the tip of Obi-Wan's cock. It was too good now to last; Obi-Wan felt his balls drawing up. He gasped into Qui-Gon's mouth as sensation crashed through him. He exploded under the firm pressure of Qui-Gon's palm, nearly bucking himself right off Qui-Gon's lap. 

Qui-Gon swallowed his cries, strong arms supporting him, and smiled against his face as Obi-Wan tore his mouth away to gasp for breath, sagging into him. 

Obi-Wan's wits were so shattered he couldn't ever remember quite how, but Qui-Gon cleaned him up, took his boots and his belt off him, and maneuvered them onto the bed with Obi-Wan's body tucked into the crook of his own, the wings of his robe enfolding them both. Blissfully sated, they slept. 

*****

A crashing sound woke Obi-Wan, and before the echoes faded, he was already on the floor, barefoot, with the hilt of his lightsaber in his fist. His stiff muscles shrieked from the rapid movement after spending all night motionless, crammed into the narrow cot with Qui-Gon. Before he actually ignited the lightsaber he abruptly realized where he was and understood Janu was knocking. 

"We'll be right with you." He snatched for his belt, hastily putting himself together again, and was aware of Qui-Gon doing the same right behind him. 

In moments they were dressed and headed out to the field in Janu's crawler. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon ate swiftly, taking emergency rations from their belts. The energy between them was good-- Qui-Gon felt calm and balanced, and his aura was an even, rich green. 

"Will you have a ration bar?" Obi-Wan politely offered one to Janu, who sneered at him. Qui-Gon quietly took the bar and proffered it on his own palm; only then would their guide accept. Obi-Wan sighed. 

A small knot of people awaited them, heavily cloaked against the brisk morning wind, but the sky had cleared and Obi-Wan could see the ice was already melting even before the sun rose. It was a more auspicious way to begin than he had hoped. 

Qui-Gon emerged from the crawler, his bearing regal as he strode forward. Obi-Wan heeled him closely, effacing himself by remaining mostly behind Qui-Gon's body. The chieftains scowled at them suspiciously, but Qui-Gon ignored their hostile expressions, his voice brisk. 

"Thank you for coming, my brothers. Your presence is appreciated. I would like to demonstrate some small part of how I can help you provide for our kinsmen." 

"Offworld scum." Kelonaht spat to the side. "A dark sorcerer with his filthy catamite bringing a pocket full of parlor tricks and a lot of sly talk, just as Majnun warned." 

Qui-Gon stepped in front of him, eyeing him levelly. "Perhaps you should wait to judge me until the children of Lathurna sit down in front of full plates tonight, Kelonaht." 

"Even Sala admits you can't grow enough food to feed us all," Kelonaht scoffed. 

"Should those I can feed starve because I can't feed everyone?" Qui-Gon's voice cracked like a whip. "You underestimate me if you think I am limited to parlor tricks. Majnun knows better." 

He turned away, glancing aside to Sala, who stood next to his vehicle with a heavily armed guard of ten men. Sacks of coarse weave lay on the exposed bed of the crawler. "Are those the seeds?" 

"Yes." Sala stared defiantly at the others. 

"Give them to him and you won't have a harvest at all," the third _taoiseach_ spoke suddenly. 

"I've seen what he can do," Sala said stubbornly. "I'll risk it." 

Qui-Gon inclined his head gravely and turned from them, staring out across the fallow field toward the rising sun. He raised his hands and Obi-Wan felt the Force stir at his call. 

He went forward and knelt before Qui-Gon's feet, ready to lend his power as it was needed. 

He watched as Qui-Gon extended his arms and furrows began to plow themselves, the soil slicing open and mounding up, moving in neat parallel lines toward the end of the field. He repeated this when he had finished, working the soft damp soil until the clods were shattered, leaving the field ripe for planting. 

This was the easy part, Obi-Wan knew; simple telekinesis. He had seen Agricorps techs do the equivalent many times and had watched them tuck the seeds into the furrows just as Qui-Gon did, neatly spaced, then cover them with loose earth. 

The next phase would be harder. 

Behind them the clan chiefs murmured, but Qui-Gon ignored them all, intensifying his concentration. 

For this, he must draw deeper-- replacing the action of sunlight with pure Force, bringing moisture wicking up through the ground, infusing the seeds and plants with the energy they needed to produce a crop. 

As Obi-Wan watched the field sprouted, tiny green leaves pushing upward and spreading. Qui-Gon's progress then slowed just as the natural growth of the plants would have, but the Living Force still thrummed around him. Obi-Wan could feel him reaching for his memories, and he twined his own joyful thoughts with Qui-Gon's, feeling their power mingle and deepen. 

The sun rose its own width, then as much again; seedlings stood a hand tall and began to stretch. By noon heads had formed on the grain, and over the afternoon they filled and ripened. The chieftains remained, watching; now their conversations were hushed. Obi-Wan spared half an ear, filing his impressions away for later study, but retained most of his focus for what they were doing-- his body was alight, glowing with pleasure, and he could feel the heat of Qui-Gon behind him, equally intense. 

Eventually the sun moved behind them and their shadows stretched long over the field; the grain stalks yellowed, ripening, the soft sough of the wind making their heavy, drying heads hiss together as they shifted and danced, flowing over the subtle folds of the land. 

Finally Qui-Gon released a deep, low sigh and lowered his hands, resting for a moment, re-settling himself. He raised them again and the grain toppled, stacking itself into sheaves. 

Obi-Wan heard the growl of engines. Looking up, he saw storage trucks trundling out along the wet road to receive the harvest. Sala was grinning, fierce and joyful; Kelonaht's expression was positively thunderous. The third chieftain glanced back and forth between them, then at Qui-Gon. His forehead creased in a frown, but he kept his thoughts to himself. 

Qui-Gon swayed very slightly, but Obi-Wan was there to bear him up, sliding under his arm to lead him from the field. 

"That is why I used to have you sort and manipulate sand," Qui-Gon murmured to Obi-Wan. "It builds fine control and prepares you for mass work at the molecular level." 

"I'll keep that in mind the very next time I'm on a beach." 

"I hope you recall there's a beach very near the Palazzo." Qui-Gon reluctantly silenced his teasing as they neared the chieftains. 

"A token of what is to come," he said to them, straightening away from Obi-Wan's support. 

"Thank you, _Taoiseach."_ Sala bowed. "My clan is at your service." 

"You honor me." Qui-Gon returned the bow formally. Sala might be only one ally from a relatively minor clan. But he was the first, and to reach one meant that others would likely become receptive. 

"I trust Lathurna will not find today's harvest targeted by raiders." Qui-Gon looked blandly to Kelonaht and the Ruidhri chieftain. "It would be regrettable indeed." 

"For whom, I wonder?" The _taoiseach_ of Ruidhri muttered wryly. 

"For all concerned, I am certain." Qui-Gon's voice remained mild, but he directed a diamond-hard stare at Kelonaht. "Most especially the raiders." 

"Tomorrow begins the gathering of chieftains. Raiding is forbidden during the gathering," Kelonaht said easily, but his eyes lingered on the trucks as Sala's people shuttled back and forth, heaping the sheaves of grain onto their beds. 

"Your demonstration was most instructive." The _taoiseach_ of Ruidhri bowed, not so deeply as Sala. "I will see you again at the gathering." He turned and strode away. 

"I too have business to attend." Kelonaht's smile stretched, bright and false. "Rather more important than spending all day letting grass grow under my heels." He bowed mockingly and left. 

"Sala, will you require a guardian for the harvest tonight?" Qui-Gon asked, an implicit offer to be that guardian. 

"No, I think not," Sala murmured. "He has our beasts; his kin are fed. He will wait to see how the gathering proceeds." 

"Then will you accompany us to the gathering tomorrow, in my ship?" 

"Yes. I am honored." Sala bowed again and drove away with the grain trucks, leaving Janu to return Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to the settlement in his crawler. 

"Take us to our ship," Qui-Gon directed. "But contact us immediately if there is any disturbance tonight." 

"Yes, _Taoiseach,"_ Janu agreed. "This I will do." 

*****

Qui-Gon braced himself against the sway of the crawler, gazing out through the windshield toward the setting sun, which caught in the volcanic particulates and aerosols in the atmosphere, setting the entire sky aflame with brilliant red and orange light. The day had gone well enough, but he was troubled despite his success. 

He'd expected resistance; that wasn't it. Instead, what troubled him were the muddy undercurrents in the relationships he observed among the three chieftains, especially Kelonaht. It was increasingly obvious that Failbhe was behind the raid on Lathurna; they were the most powerful local group and Kelonaht seemed by far the most aggressive of the three leaders. 

Even more bothersome were Kelonaht's emotions toward Qui-Gon. He'd expected hostility and mistrust, but the Failbhe leader's feelings were far more complex, involving a mixture of fear, triumph, and hatred-- and there was a sense of knowing expectancy in the others as they observed him with Kelonaht, as if they believed some secret was about to come to light and make the situation worse. 

Perhaps it was; the Force whispered with somber import, not yet loud enough to discern hidden truths. 

Obi-Wan shifted against him as the crawler hit a hole, and Qui-Gon steadied him automatically, provoking a flash of smile as warm as it was brief. 

As usual since Palpatine's death, the fresh evidence of Obi-Wan's unjudging love shook Qui-Gon to the core, provoking a complex mix of love, lust, and guilt in him. Obi-Wan's hand slid over his, a subtle caress, comforting. He accepted it even as he worked to channel away the lust, releasing it into the Force. Lust was a complicated feeling, too closely related to the darker feelings he had not yet fully purged. They lingered, barely concealed beneath the veneer of serenity and calm that he wore like the Jedi clothing Yoda had sent him: an ill-fitting shell, uncomfortable and undeserved, something of a falsehood. 

Janu dropped them at the ship and Obi-Wan keyed the ramp, turning to glance back when Qui-Gon did not immediately follow. 

"What's troubling you?" He stepped back out to Qui-Gon's side, his clear eyes intent. 

"I'm not sure," Qui-Gon equivocated, focusing on the least personal of his thoughts. "Something about Kelonaht. There are secrets hidden there." 

"You think he was behind the raid." 

"Yes, and likely much more." Qui-Gon folded his arms inside his robe. He looked out over the land; the thick haze caught the last rays of the setting sun, transforming the air to a mist of shimmering gold. 

"The effects of the ash are beautiful. It's a pity that it's also deadly to the native populations." Obi-Wan shook his head, squinting into the sun. "I haven't sensed a single large animal in the wild since we arrived." 

"It's likely they've either frozen during the winters or been eaten," Qui-Gon answered him soberly. "That too will wreak havoc with the environmental balance." 

"It's a lesson to any sentient being," Obi-Wan agreed. "We mustn't close ourselves in and maintain stubborn self-reliance out of false pride. We must ask for help before we damage ourselves beyond repair." 

Qui-Gon tilted a wry brow at Obi-Wan. "With so much wisdom to share, you should take a padawan." 

"I never thought you would be the first to nag me to take a padawan learner." Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I always thought it would be Yoda, and that he would thump me with his stick if I hesitated-- not to mention grabbing me by the ear and dragging me off into a training bond with some poor, hapless child." 

"As he did to us?" Qui-Gon smiled faintly. "He does have an annoying tendency to be right." He resisted the impulse to turn to Obi-Wan and reach for him. 

"Then perhaps I should be glad he hasn't brought it up." Obi-Wan responded comfortably. The last sliver of sun fell behind the horizon and the wind freshened, biting through their robes. "Will you come in or should I leave you out here to think?" 

"I'll come in shortly." 

Obi-Wan nodded acquiescence and departed up the ramp. Qui-Gon let his eyes follow until he was gone, drinking deep of Obi-Wan's unconscious grace and his apparent comfort with himself. He had felt that same calm certainty himself once. 

He turned back, raising his hood against the wind, watching the horizon shade from fierce crimson to faint, fading purple. The Force had no further message for him, only vague, shifting unease, so he turned and went up the ramp to share a ration bar with Obi-Wan and retire politely to his solitary bunk. He accepted a kiss, but declined the implicit offer of a shared bed. 

He was weary and he had much to consider. 

*****

Sala arrived with the dawn. They settled his small retinue in the hold, inviting him up to the cockpit. He sat and watched the landscape streaming beneath them with keen interest as they flew toward the equator on a direct heading for the coordinates of the gathering. 

"Were there any security issues in the night?" Qui-Gon asked. 

"No. I've left the majority of my able-bodied men to ensure there won't be any while we're gone, either. Kelonaht will be bringing his more aggressive clansmen with him, I think-- it's traditional to bring a number of the chief's nearest kinsmen to the gathering of the clans." Sala looked down at a glittering lake, watching a flight of migratory birds rise from it, his eyes alight. "I haven't seen a flock of game birds like those in more than ten solar cycles." 

"As we get nearer to the equator, I suppose the crop failures haven't been as severe and their numbers haven't been thinned so much by hunting," Qui-Gon commented, watching for Sala's response. 

"It makes sense. Not that any of us in the higher latitudes would know." Sala's mouth narrowed, bitter. "Our requests for assistance have fallen on deaf ears unless we can accompany them with substantial sums of money or valuable goods." 

_"Taoiseach_ Sala, forgive me for speaking," Obi-Wan said abruptly. "But perhaps a different perspective might be helpful." 

"Go ahead, offworlder." Sala mastered his dislike and gave Obi-Wan his sober but polite attention. 

Obi-Wan paused, carefully composing his remarks. "It seems your culture places value on kinship bonds above all else. Yet your clans do not help or trust one another. If resisting off-world contact and assistance is so important to you, perhaps emphasizing kinship would be a useful point of leverage to increase cooperation among the clans." 

"There have been occasions when the clans came together." Sala shrugged. "We united many generations ago and drove away the Hutts who had invaded our world, seeking to exploit our planetary resources and enslave our people. But when they were gone, little remained but our determination to keep off-worlders away." 

Obi-Wan's eyes sought Qui-Gon's, and Qui-Gon stepped in, taking over. 

"I was not aware the Hutts had a history on Abhaile." 

"I'm sure they don't care to boast of it," Sala said drily. "It cost us many men, but we drove most of them away and killed the rest. We took their technology and computer information to augment our own. Since then most offworlders attempting contact or landing have been warned, and if they did not heed the warning, they have been killed." 

That seemed consistent with the Jedi records Qui-Gon had accessed when researching his heritage. 

"Tell me what you know of Kelonaht," Qui-Gon changed the subject mildly. 

Sala's eyes flashed at him with alarm. "I know little of him personally. He succeeded his father twenty years ago when the old man's health declined. He has lived up to his father's legacy-- he's a strong leader, ambitious, aggressive, and successful. Since Failbhe acquired--" he hesitated, then pressed on. "Since Failbhe doubled its holdings they have enjoyed relative wealth, but they aren't satisfied with it. He is always seeking more." 

"Since my parents perished and Failbhe took over most of Neishan's holdings?" Qui-Gon guessed. 

Sala nodded, his discomfort growing. "I was only a babe at the time. Kelonaht would have been a teenager." 

"Do you know what happened?" 

"Very little," he shook his head. "Mostly what I was later told. I did not know an heir had survived the raid." 

"A raid?" Qui-Gon seized on the word. 

Sala shook his head, startled. "I thought you knew, _Taoiseach."_

"I was told my parents perished in an accident." 

Sala hesitated. "I will go into the hold and fetch back the oldest of my men. He may be able to remember things I can't." He went out. 

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon, compassionate, but Qui-Gon shook his head. "This won't increase my grief for parents I never knew. But I need to know what actually happened and who was involved." It was true, if not a complete disclosure-- in the back of his head, a flicker of fury had kindled at the idea his parents might have been killed for personal gain. He carefully pushed it away. 

"Yes. There might still be a threat to you." 

"Yes, especially if Kelonaht believes I mean to reclaim my position and raise a new clan." Qui-Gon gazed at the corridor, where Sala was returning with a white-haired elder. 

"Be at ease, _mo athair."_ Qui-Gon offered the man his own seat. "Have you anything to tell me about the destruction of Neishan?" 

He hesitated, shooting a look at Obi-Wan, who rose graciously and excused himself, departing from the cockpit. 

"It was long ago, _Taoiseach,_ and I was not there. But the story is well-known among my generation. Your parents were cursed, some said." He twisted his knobbled hands in the fur trim of his coat. "They were married young and everyone expected them to lead the clan in prosperity. It was not a large clan but it was a proud and honorable one." He gave Qui-Gon an anxious glance, and Qui-Gon kept his features calm and friendly, encouraging him to continue. 

"The curse is one many clans have endured-- your family could not produce an heir. Children were conceived and born, but..." he swallowed hard. "Forgive me, _Taoiseach._ But I speak truth: they were accursed. The heirs all died before they ever came of age, one after another." 

Qui-Gon sat very still. "I see. What form did their deaths take?" 

"They were cursed by sorcerous spirits. The spirits pursued them, casting objects about with invisible hands, setting fires, and making mischief in whatever way they could. One burned when the nursery ignited, though there were no lamps or fires inside. Another was killed when a beam from the ceiling fell on his cradle. There were two others, as well. They were older, but they also died before they came of age. One boy died in a crash while racing skimmers. The other child fell while trying to swim a river that was in flood stage. They said she meant to save her pet tarq, who was trapped when the waters rose." 

_Powerful Force-sensitives, their talents manifesting among those who did not understand or know how to help or train them._ Qui-Gon rose and paced the cockpit slowly, aware that his fists were clenched. 

"As the curse deepened clan members fled, hoping to escape the anger of the spirits. Soon only your father's closest kin were left. Then your mother conceived again. It should have been a time of joy, but all the people in the area were afraid-- for spirits are capricious, and no one knew who might become their next target. 

"Near the end of her term, off-worlders came. They were dressed much like you are now. They told the _taoiseach_ your father that they must take you, or you would likely not survive to become a man." He hesitated. "It is said they were sorcerers and your father summoned them himself in desperation. The spirits had already begun to bedevil your mother, though her child was not yet born. He feared he would lose her as well as the child." 

Qui-Gon's fists tightened. "And then?" 

"A healthy male child was born, and he received the clan mark-- you, _Taoiseach_. But the clan chieftains resented the offworld sorcerers, and they feared the spirits' anger would increase and spread to their people. Men moved in secrecy against your father for bringing the sorcerers to Abhaile. I do not know who. I was not asked to be among them. You must believe me!" His hands twisted tight with fear. 

"I only saw the destruction, afterward. None of your remaining family and kin survived, and your clan dwelling was torn stone from stone. Many of us believed the child had also perished in the raid. The off-worlders were gone as well, and your family's lands were split among the local clans, each claiming a share according to that clan's power. It seemed the spirits were satisfied; they left us in peace." 

"I thank you for this information." Qui-Gon heard the distance in his voice. Anger was no longer a candle flame, but a powerful blaze threatening to ignite his calm and devour it. The man sat shivering, unable to meet his eyes. "You may go. No harm will come to you from sharing this." 

The old Djinn scuttled out, and Qui-Gon resumed his seat, checking the consoles with deliberate care. The gathering area was just beyond horizon, so he transmitted his request for a landing assignment, fingers stabbing the keys hard. 

"Qui-Gon, are you all right?" Obi-Wan's quiet voice heralded his approach, and his hand fell lightly on Qui-Gon's shoulder. "I must confess: I listened from the corridor." 

Qui-Gon considered. "No," he said simply, and Obi-Wan sat next to him, quietly supportive. 

"After we've landed we should meditate together." 

"If there is time." Qui-Gon maintained iron control over the wrath, containing it. 

"We'll make time, if we must," Obi-Wan answered, unshakeable. "I need it too." 

"It may take more than meditation to purge my anger," Qui-Gon admitted reluctantly. 

"We could spar." 

"We've a day of difficult political maneuvering ahead of us." Qui-Gon received a response to his request and fed it to the navicomp, transmitting acknowledgment. "In light of this information, I see I've made crucial missteps that will have to be dealt with." 

"Would it be best if I stayed on the ship?" 

"Best to go on as we've begun; I don't want anyone claiming you've been running about committing crimes while we weren't together. And they will have to deal with off-worlders at some point-- just as they'll have to cope with 'sorcery' now that I've begun my work by using it." 

"Majnun would have made our Jedi powers impossible to conceal, regardless. You've acted to balance what he hopes to use against you." 

"This is larger for me now than saving the Djinn from themselves," Qui-Gon said abruptly. "I'm going to have to try to persuade them to let the Jedi take their Force-sensitive children." 

Obi-Wan grimaced. "Just when I decide you've bitten off more than you can chew, you devour another plateful." 

"You know as well as I that my brothers and sisters should have been recruited and taken to the Temple. Clearly they were strong in the Force." 

"It's not unusual for untrained Force users to become overconfident and take on situations too dangerous for them to handle, especially if they lose focus at a critical moment. But children dying in the cradle?" Obi-Wan shook his head. "That isn't usual." 

"Most Jedi are more gifted in the Unifying Force than the Living Force. It tends to manifest inside their heads, whereas the Living Force tends to channel itself outward. The creche masters had great difficulty with me, if their complaints are to be believed." Qui-Gon gazed into memory. "Evidently they are." 

"You're among the stronger users of the Living Force in Yoda's memory." Obi-Wan acknowledged. "Perhaps the rarity of the ability owes something to its apparent dangers." 

"We'll have to watch for it in our facility. Maybe the Djinn will be more likely to allow their children to train there with another Djinn in charge." 

That made Obi-Wan smile with such warmth Qui-Gon felt his belly flutter and turn over in response. It went a long way towards dispelling his anger. 

They set down at their assigned landing area amidst a wide field of other ships, many of them small and in dubious repair. Obi-Wan nudged him, pointing off to one side of the viewscreen. 

"A luxury sail barge," he murmured. "Do you suppose...?" 

"That is the place where the clan chiefs gather." Sala entered the cockpit, responding unexpectedly to Obi-Wan's words. "It's a relic of our occupation by the Hutts. We find it safer to remain in motion while the meetings occur. The itinerary is randomized by computer to lessen the chance of raids." 

"A wise precaution." Obi-Wan answered him calmly, as if the interaction were unsurprising. Qui-Gon nodded approval; perhaps other Djinn would soon find their xenophobia was founded in habit and prejudice rather than in reason. 

"What will be expected of me at the gathering?" Qui-Gon inquired as they disembarked and set out for the sail barge, which was already boarding passengers. 

"As the chieftain who called the gather, you'll be expected to present your reasons immediately after roll-call. Of course there will be a problem with establishing your credentials-- you hold the position by virtue of being the last marked member of the clan. But you were not selected. Considering that they honored your call for the gathering, recognition is largely a formality, but some will protest your right to speak, and you may be asked to submit to a test of your fitness." He glanced aside at Obi-Wan. "He will not be admitted to the gathering." 

"I disagree," Qui-Gon said mildly, and Sala shrugged. 

"I suppose stranger things have happened." He suddenly grinned. "I wouldn't want to be the one to tell you he can't enter." 

"That person will be unfortunate," Qui-Gon agreed, and he looked ahead calmly as they mounted the ramp to the barge. He could feel both Obi-Wan's pleasure and his trepidation. 

Sala's party entered unchallenged, pausing to watch as Qui-Gon presented his credentials to the small knot of guards who waited at the entry. 

"No off-worlders permitted." One guard extended a pike in front of Obi-Wan, snarling at him with distaste. 

"He is mine and I require his assistance." Qui-Gon remained serene. 

"Rules are rules." 

"I see that every other clan chief is permitted to have a kinsman for a companion. I have no native clansmen to accompany me. He is my chosen assistant." Qui-Gon carefully kept his tone reasonable even as his irritation grew. 

"He's a sorcerer." 

"I'm a sorcerer." Qui-Gon pointed out reasonably. "Would you like to witness a practical demonstration of my power?" 

Suddenly the guards bristled with weapons; Qui-Gon became aware that Obi-Wan had shifted, letting his robe fall back to expose his lightsaber. He reached out carefully with his mind, soothing Obi-Wan wordlessly. 

"Any of you who likes may attempt to harm me." He let the ghost of a smile play around his lips. Obi-Wan stiffened subtly, his hand now quite near the hilt of his lightsaber, but Qui-Gon didn't move, staring calmly into the lead guard's eyes. "I won't retaliate with deadly force, but I will remember." 

A thin haze of sweat broke out on the man's brow, though his eyes didn't flicker. He lifted a commlink to his lips and spat out a code, then received one in return. 

"I am told you may enter," he said stiffly, and the guards stood aside. 

"Thank you. Come, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon sailed through, working the sweep of his robes for all they were worth. 

Sala chuckled low in his throat. "Didn't even make a threat, and he still had Anait pissing down his leg," he muttered to his own aide, who laughed aloud as they sought rooms, following the curve of the corridor around the port side of the barge and looking for unoccupied berths. 

"I believe Sala thinks he's hooked his skyhopper up to a hyperdrive," Obi-Wan murmured in Qui-Gon's ear, amused. 

"A decision that would far more likely be disastrous than fortunate," he responded wryly. 

Thanks to the speed of Tiran's yacht, they had arrived early and had a good choice of rooms. After short deliberation they picked a pair of small cabins adjacent to one another near the bow of the barge-- not as large as some, but well-suited to their needs. Each was tiny but functional, with two stacked bunks and a restroom facility en suite, though it had neither a shower nor a bath. 

Summoning Obi-Wan with a glance, Qui-Gon went out to inspect the barge, hoping to gain insight into the methods of the gather. As was typical of the luxury class sail barge, a central deck had been left open for group recreation, and blast-shielded shutters hung all around its circumference, all of which could be raised to arrange for viewing. The Djinn had installed rows of seating inside, arranged in concentric ovals and facing the stern of the ship, where the room's end terminated abruptly in a bulkhead that concealed the ship's steering mechanisms and emergency thrusters. A dais stood before the bulkhead, ready to accommodate a speaker. 

He estimated the room could hold two hundred people comfortably, perhaps accommodating three hundred and fifty if standees packed in around the chairs, standing shoulder to shoulder. 

"Cozy." Obi-Wan's voice was rich with wry amusement, sending a soft flare of desire through Qui-Gon. He pushed it away relentlessly-- later. 

"I wonder how many clans there are. Surely this won't be large enough for every clan leader on Abhaile." 

"Perhaps the smaller, weaker clans don't always send their leaders." 

"Or the larger, more prosperous ones may believe my call is beneath their notice." Qui-Gon was aware of hostile stares from other clan chiefs and their comrades, split more or less evenly between himself and Obi-Wan. 

"Ki-Gün." Majnun's voice interrupted his thoughts, and they turned to face him together, composed. "I see you managed to intimidate the guards." 

"I'm glad you've come." Qui-Gon ignored his rudeness. 

"I have to hand it to you. You've got balls." Majnun studied him coolly. "What is your purpose here? If you mean to keep me from the cats, you've neglected to realize this gathering won't last long." 

"I mean to help our kinsmen in such a way that your off-world mercenary activities will no longer be necessary." 

Majnun smiled a little, ice-blue eyes hard. "Perhaps I'm like you and I've developed a taste for off-world affairs." His eyes traveled pointedly to Obi-Wan, who remained still, controlling his expression perfectly. 

"Then I will still help our kin." Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed. "And I will continue as needed to keep you from the cats." 

"Will you re-establish Neishan?" Majnun speculated, again glancing at Obi-Wan. "That one won't bear you any heirs. Not that a half-breed off-worlder could take over a Djinn clan." 

"That is not my purpose here." Qui-Gon shook his head. "If you've become as sophisticated in the ways of off-worlders as you would have me believe, you know more of the Jedi than to think that." 

"I know enough of the Jedi to know they cast you out after the murders you committed." 

"Qui-Gon is a Jedi Master in good standing." Obi-Wan defended him quietly. "By authority of Grand Master Yoda of the Jedi High Council." 

Majnun's smile widened. "Then the Jedi _are_ an amoral pack of opportunists after all." 

Qui-Gon put a quelling hand in front of Obi-Wan before he could speak. "The Jedi are not yours to judge." 

"Your defense of those who use you is very entertaining," Majnun laughed. "But as an amoral opportunist, I intended it as a compliment." 

Qui-Gon dismissed the mockery easily. "Surely you do not grudge me this attempt to help our people." 

"If help is what you intend, no." Majnun's eyes narrowed. "But you have already betrayed me once, Ki-Gün. You will not find me so trusting this time." 

Qui-Gon stepped forward, pressing well inside Majnun's personal space. "I honored my blood ties." 

"None of my kinsmen had a living after you took the cats," Majnun spat. "We didn't have a pot to piss in, _brother."_

"You still had your cocks to piss with; none of our brothers died with the others on Lisyl. You would do well to remember that." Qui-Gon took a deep breath, reclaiming his calm. "I have come now to make amends for taking your livelihood." 

Majnun scoffed. "You'll never get the clans to listen, even if you're sincere." 

"It would help if you supported me." 

"Supported you?" Majnun laughed again. "You're lucky I even bothered to come cast my ballot against you." He turned on his heel and strode off with an ostentatious lack of hurry. 

"That could have gone better," Qui-Gon commented drily. 

"And it could have gone worse. There's a lot of posturing in this society," Obi-Wan murmured. "I think you still have a chance. He never directly stated his opposition." 

"He's spread plenty of tales of the carnage on Lisyl." 

"And so far the fear they've provoked has been useful." Obi-Wan grinned a little. "We may as well use their fears in addition to discussing our own." 

"You have a point." 

They retreated to their cabins to await the evening; as the hours stretched the corridor became noisier. Qui-Gon used the time to meditate, working to dispel and control his anger over his family's fate; as evening fell he slowly surfaced and became aware of Obi-Wan watching him, soft-eyed and silent, the faintest smile touching the corner of his mouth. 

It humbled him even as it shivered him to the tips of his toes: the way Obi-Wan had simply surrendered his mistrust and the steadfastness of him in the wake of his decision. The purity of his passion and his willingness to go forward, forgetting the past. The way the knight's warm, wise eyes still somehow resembled the bright and innocent gaze of Qui-Gon Jinn's teenaged padawan, so deeply afflicted with adolescent lust and star-struck hero worship, which Qui-Gon had so abjectly failed to deserve. 

"You're brooding," Obi-Wan murmured. "And I would say the man who destroyed the last Dark Lord of the Sith deserves a bit of hero worship as long as he doesn't let it go to his head." 

Qui-Gon shook his head, not sure if he were more exasperated with himself for failing to shield his thoughts, or with Obi-Wan's compliment. 

He rose, stretching his long muscles slowly, then stepped forward to lay his hand against Obi-Wan's cheek. The young man's beard was surprisingly soft against his palm, and he slid his fingertips slowly through it up to Obi-Wan's cheek, one fingertip covering the freckle beneath his right eye. 

"I don't think you're infallible, you know." Obi-Wan looked at him quietly. "I'm not sure I did then, either." His hand rose to twine with Qui-Gon's. "You may remember me questioning your decisions even as a padawan of thirteen, no matter how much it annoyed you." His smile stretched, a little lopsided. "What actually humbles me is your courage to do what you think is right in spite of the cost." 

"You have it, too." Qui-Gon watched, heart filling, as Obi-Wan nuzzled into his palm and kissed it. "And don't try to tell me I taught it to you; you had it before we ever met." 

Obi-Wan shook his head, chuckling, and raised his voice an octave. "Rebellious you are, young Obi-Wan. Qui-Gon's defiance, I sense in you!" 

Qui-Gon laughed. "Need that you do not!" 

Obi-Wan's eyes sparkled with laughter, but he stepped back, gazing over Qui-Gon's shoulder. Qui-Gon turned, finding Sala standing in the doorway of their stateroom and looking faintly baffled. 

"It is nearly nightfall." 

Qui-Gon nodded, straightening his robe, and followed the Lathurna _taoiseach_ down to the central deck, where a roar of conversation indicated that most of the clan leaders were already in their places. 

Sala stood back as Qui-Gon went in, forcing his way through the crowd and stepping up onto the dais. The talk continued, stubborn-- if anything, it grew increasingly raucous in some areas of the room. 

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and reached out to the Dark Force, just enough to channel a series of lightning flares to stab around the barge in rapid sequence. The resulting thunderclaps rattled the bulkheads, green-tinted white flares blinding everyone. The concussion effectively drowned out all conversation, leaving a silent and staring group. 

What had once been an almost inconceivable immersion in darkness felt easy, almost natural, and he hoped that the benign intent behind his action counted for something; none of it touched a target and no harm was done. He pushed away the seeking tendrils of darkness along with his guilt, dispelling them into the Force, and they obeyed him. 

Avoiding Obi-Wan's worried frown, Qui-Gon stared back at his kinsmen, moving his gaze around the room for a long moment before beginning to speak quietly. 

"My kinsmen, as the last remaining member of Neishan, I have invoked the right of a _taoiseach_ to summon you here today. Abhaile and the Djinn are in great need. I hope to use my unique position as the only Djinn among the Jedi to assist you in overcoming the natural disaster that has brought our proud culture so low that the best and brightest of us must leave the homeworld and sell their time to off-worlders in order to bring home food and medicine to our children." 

A mutter arose at that-- protests that he, a sorcerer and all but an off-worlder himself, would presume to lead them; that he would presume to say 'our,' and protests against proclaiming himself a _taoiseach_. Qui-Gon forced himself to perfect calm, ignored the muttering, and continued to speak. 

"I am aware of the predations of the Hutt on our world, and I agree: no such off-worlders should ever be permitted on Abhaile. The Hutt who invaded Abhaile were despicable; they sought only to exploit its resources and people to their own gain. But the Djinn may do business with off-worlders in such a way as to remain fully sovereign over this world, permitting only carefully chosen off-worlders to set foot on our soil and limiting their influence over the clans. 

"Doing this need not lessen our Djinn heritage or pride; we have many valuable services and products we may trade for assistance. There are those who need our animals and crops as we need theirs. There are those who can give us valuable minerals and technology in exchange for our own. No longer will the Trade Federation prevent exports and imports passing along the shipping lanes; recent shifts in power have left them unable to stand against the Republic. Abhaile stands to benefit from this. Make the Republic your ally-- you do not have to join it or to bow to its rules, if you choose not. That is a matter for all to vote on, not for any single Djinn to dictate. 

"In exchange for shipping a few freighters full of water from this world to Coruscant, you stand to buy enough food to feed the hungry for many months." Qui-Gon spoke over the rumble that greeted his statement. "I offer my services as a mediator and advisor to help insure that your dealings and treaties with the Republic are fair and mutually beneficial and do not leave my kinsmen in an unfavorable position. I have been trained by the Jedi in such services, and I have performed them for many worlds. Having the Republic as an ally can, in fact, help you keep undesirables like the Hutt away from Abhaile." He looked around for a moment, weighing their mood. 

"And I offer a further service to you. Too many of our children die as my brothers and sisters died-- as I almost certainly would have died without the Jedi who took me to Coruscant for training. The Jedi can save your children; we can train them to control their powers as I have learned to do. As Grand Master of the Xinune Temple, I will personally oversee the training of any Djinn child sent to the Jedi and ensure that each child is given a chance to return to Abhaile upon completion of training, if the child wishes to return and serve the clans. 

"I know some of you have this same power within you-- there are Djinn who can heal, who can sense the location of water underground, or who can bring rain or tell the future-- dozens of talents spring from this same source. I know those of you who have these gifts fear for the lives of your children. You have also been told to fear my powers-- instead, I ask you to take hope from them. They are the same powers that many of you have, or that others have who have helped you." He brought his speech to a close, bowing formally. 

He did not quite dare to look at Obi-Wan after going so far as to claim the title of Grand Master of a group of Jedi he had never seen; he did not want to find either awe or disapproval waiting for him there. 

There would be time enough for that particular uncertainty later. 

He found Kelonaht's sour face waiting for him at the front of the crowd; the man stepped forward as their gazes touched. 

"You are no _taoiseach."_ Kelonaht's voice cut like a blade; it was enough to silence the room. "You are the remnant of a failed clan, fled in disgrace, never chosen by your brothers to lead them. You are an off-worlder yourself despite your blood-- listen to you! Listen to how you would change us as blithely as a child building foolish futures. You are a sorcerer, planning to take our children from us and make them into dark magicians and off-worlders like yourself!" 

All eyes turned to Qui-Gon, expectant. 

"Very well, son of those who killed my clan." Qui-Gon projected calm even as he felt his anger stirring, beginning to build. The air seemed to suck from the room at his words, and he let the dark Force encourage their fear, building the tension as he stepped forward to the edge of the dais. "You will now present a counter-proposal, I trust, telling us all how you will feed our brothers and their children, in your wisdom." He paused for effect. 

"I will not sell us into the slavery of the Republic. My brothers and their children would rather die free than live slave." Livid, Kelonaht scowled at Qui-Gon, stepping up onto the dais. "You will answer for the insult you have given me, off-worlder." 

"Your brothers can decide and speak for themselves." Qui-Gon's voice cracked like a whip. "I speak truths, not insults." 

Kelonaht stalked forward, scowl murderous. "You will not--" 

"Gentlemen." A bored drawl halted Kelonaht. "Before this gets any further out of hand, I believe our friend here should prove for once and for all that he has a right to call himself a _taoiseach_ and address the gathering of the clans-- to prove that he is a Djinn, not an off-worlder." Majnun smirked, the expression positively gleeful. "Swim the River of Light, Ki-Gün, and bring back proof that you survived to reach the heart-- bring a shard of the light back to us here. Only then will you satisfy me that you have a right to call yourself a Djinn and to speak before the clans like a man." 

A roar of approval rose from the room along with a few derisive catcalls. 

"Very well," Qui-Gon agreed, trapped. "I will swim the River of Light." 

Majnun reclaimed his seat with a satisfied half-smile, and even Kelonaht subsided with a reluctant scowl. 

"We will divert, then, to the head of the River." Kelonaht sent a commanding glance toward another tall Djinn, who went to the control center. "It will not take you long to fail, I think." 

"We shall see," Qui-Gon said, "and then we shall meet again here." He stepped off the dais as the group began to disperse to their staterooms. 

To his dismay, Sala was shaking his head, his face tight-set. "They mean to be rid of you, _Taoiseach._ Very few survive the attempt to swim to the heart; even fewer have brought back a shard. This course is not wisdom." 

"Have those who returned received respect?" 

"To return with a shard would make you a chief of chiefs," Sala said simply. "But to fail will kill you-- or so I assume. The few who have survived the attempt speak of the dead men suspended in the River. It is said that if you do not have the heart of a chief, the very waters will turn to stone and you will lie entombed there forever." 

"Then it's a good thing I have the heart of a chief," Qui-Gon said calmly, provoking a worried chuckle from Obi-Wan and a headshake from Sala. "Tell me all you know of the River." 

"The River wells up at the verge of the Sable Sands quite near here. It courses across the land for many miles, growing as it encounters tributaries. The system feeds the lower half of this continent," Sala explained. "Without the River, it is believed that much of this continent would be desert. Its waters are blessed-- where they flow life thrives. Or it did before the eruptions began." He led them into his own stateroom, still speaking. 

"Plants that receive this water grow tall and animals who drink it are healthier than those who do not. The farther the water passes from its source, the less noticeable this effect is, as other tributaries mingle with it and dilute its strength. Throughout the continent we pump the waters to many places, and they feed many clans, their crops, and their animals." His face twisted. "Lathurna has never had such good fortune. Our water comes from lakes that were formed by glacial retreat and rainfall. 

"Those who have returned from the River cave without a shard have not ventured far inside-- and none have obtained a living shard in my lifetime. They say there is a channel beneath the sable sands from which the water comes. Most say the channel is dark; they agree that it is just broad enough for a man to slip through at its narrowest point. Some few speak of light; they say the deeper you go, the more the light grows. But then they saw the suspended men, and their courage failed." 

"Suspended men?" 

"Dead men, floating motionless in the water-- perfectly preserved, frozen as they swam." He shrugged helplessly. "I know no more, _Taoiseach."_

Obi-Wan shot a tight glance at Qui-Gon, eloquent of everything he would not say in front of others. Qui-Gon acknowledged it with the barest tilt of his chin, returning his attention to Sala. 

"What should I take?" 

"Tradition has it that you make the venture carrying only a knife to help you harvest a shard." 

"Qui-Gon--" the urgency in that voice made him smile. Obi-Wan had always had an uncanny ability to guess what he was thinking. 

"The Force will guide me, Obi-Wan. I won't need my lightsaber." 

"Or a breathing gill?" Resignation and irritation combined in Obi-Wan's tone. 

"I will make the swim as other Djinn have done before me." 

"I'm sure you will. _Taoiseach_ Sala, please excuse us." Obi-Wan gave the man a bow, but for all his politeness, his glance at Qui-Gon was sharp. "Qui-Gon must meditate to prepare himself for his ordeal." 

Qui-Gon followed him, waiting until their door closed before speaking. 

"Obi-Wan--" 

"Don't start." Obi-Wan turned, his blue eyes crackling with emotion. "I already know your 'will of the Force' lecture nearly as well as I know the Code." 

Qui-Gon swallowed the words, grimacing wryly. 

"We spoke earlier about fallibility." Obi-Wan steeled himself visibly, his eyes sober. "Have you noticed that ever since we reunited on Xinune the will of the Force seems always to involve you offering up your life in some kind of pointlessly difficult, martyred self-sacrifice? Is it the Force or is it your own egotism, Qui-Gon? Do you really believe you're the only possible hope of salvation for everyone you meet?" 

"Twice is not--" 

"Perhaps you're right; twice isn't proof of a pattern. But nonetheless it disturbs me. You've always listened to the Force in your own particular way, Qui-Gon, and what troubles me, both then and now, is how much you seem to believe that your way is the only right way. The only _possible_ right way." Obi-Wan began to pace, quietly agitated. 

"As I told you some time ago, you could have come back to the Jedi after Lisyl, but your own sense of pride prevented you from even considering the possibility. And yet you do not seem to consider that you might have made an error in judgment. When I was your padawan you rarely acknowledged the possibility that you could be wrong, and now it's much worse than before. You haven't ever discussed your options with me; you simply make your choices and expect me to accept them as if they are self-evident." He turned away to hide his expression, and Qui-Gon could only hear the enforced calm of his voice as he continued. 

"You're right more often than you aren't; I'll grant you that. But no one is always right, and the more you believe you are, the less you will truly listen to the Force's guidance. I worry that your hubris will lead you to needless destruction one day." 

"You're distressed because this situation dictates you must be passive." 

Obi-Wan rounded on him, jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped there. "I'm distressed because you don't seem to care for my input." 

"Should I have stopped the meeting? 'Pardon me, assembled kinsmen, but I need to consult for an hour with my off-worlder companion before I get back to you on whether I'll swim the River of Light?'" 

"No. But you didn't tell me anything of your plans before we arrived, and you didn't speak with me regarding the assistance package you evidently have in mind for the Djinn-- I could have brought you up to date on Jedi and Republic assistance policies, by the way, had you bothered." 

Qui-Gon blinked. "I'm sorry. I fully intended to enlist your assistance in drafting the agreement." 

"It's a start, but it's not enough." Obi-Wan lifted his chin. "I'm no longer a padawan, Qui-Gon. If I'm to be your partner, to be the Master of the Order to your Grand Master on Xinune-- if you want the future with me as your lover that you once said you hoped for-- you must learn to treat me as an equal. And that," he took a deep breath, "means we'll sometimes disagree, and you'll have to face the possibility that sometimes you're wrong; you must accept the possibility that I can disagree with you and may be right. We need to learn to work together, which means you should include me in making decisions, trust my judgment, and learn to compromise." 

"The will of the Force is not something I can ignore--" 

"No. But you are not the Force. Nor are you the sole instrument of its will." Obi-Wan turned away from him again. "Either you can learn to compromise or you cannot. I understand this, Qui-Gon. But you should understand that this issue will not simply go away if we ignore it. I'm not a child, not a padawan learner. I'm a Jedi Knight, a trained and competent instrument of the Force's will, just as you are. Your arrogance will divide us if you cannot let it go." 

"I'm sorry." Qui-Gon stepped up behind Obi-Wan, letting one hand fall on his shoulder and slide down to clasp his arm. He took a deep breath, struggling to release his pride. "You speak truly. But since I was first knighted I have had no other authority I trusted enough to answer to except myself and the Force-- not even the High Councillors have always commanded my respect. It will not be easy for me to learn to think differently-- and I may not always be able to agree or to compromise. We must speak of this again when we have more time." 

"If there is ever time." Obi-Wan remained stiff, gazing at the bulkhead without softening. "If you don't willfully run to your martyrdom before learning to trust in me." 

Qui-Gon sighed, tilting his head to rest against Obi-Wan's, not quite confident enough to nuzzle in and kiss his neck. "I will do my best to survive swimming the River of Light." 

"See that you do." Obi-Wan's voice was a little gruff, defensive. 

Obi-Wan's gruffness and his obvious emotion gave Qui-Gon courage. "When this is over, I hope there will be time to finish this discussion. I hope there will be time for many things," he said, and nestled in carefully until his cheek touched skin. 

Obi-Wan sighed and gentled against him slowly, relenting. "I suppose this wasn't the best time for me to bring it up." 

Qui-Gon chuckled a bit ruefully, sliding his arms carefully around Obi-Wan, trying to say with touch and nearness the things he couldn't seem to find words for. "Truth is neither right nor wrong. It simply is, and it needs to be known." 

Obi-Wan's body shifted within the circle of his arms, a silent laugh just audible in the rush of breath from his mouth. "You always sound as if you're speaking in aphorisms." 

"Do I?" Qui-Gon nuzzled at Obi-Wan's ear, relishing the sigh he elicited. "Then maybe I should talk less and listen more often." 

"That's an aphorism I can agree with." Obi-Wan's hands came up and clasped around his wrists, locking himself loosely inside Qui-Gon's embrace. 

Qui-Gon kissed the ear under his lips, brushing his lips along the velvet-soft shell and relishing Obi-Wan's bone-deep shiver of response. He resisted the impulse to speak, savoring the feel of Obi-Wan's warm body instead-- the silk of his hair, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the calluses on his hands, wrapped lightly around Qui-Gon's own wrists, and the simple peace of being together, a luxury that was still too new to be taken for granted. He sank into it, stilling himself and centering on his contentment. In a moment he felt Obi-Wan do the same. 

Before Qui-Gon was ready the barge slowed, banking into a turn, and came to a halt. Obi-Wan's shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh a he released Qui-Gon's arms. 

"I don't suppose I can convince you to tuck away a breathing gill where nobody will see it." 

Qui-Gon started to refuse, then reached to his belt and extracted the small cylinder from its holster. "You have," he said quietly, doffing his robe and pressing it into Obi-Wan's arms. He pulled up his tunic and stoles, amused by Obi-Wan's expression of startled approval as he slipped it into his breechclout and arranged it to lie inconspicuously parallel to his penis. 

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said softly. "I know you won't use it unless you must." 

Qui-Gon merely reached out and took his hand, pressing a kiss to the center of his palm and then folding his fingers closed over it. 

"I think I should leave you in Sala's custody for your safety while I'm gone," he murmured. "At least nominally, it should provide you with legal protection." 

"That would probably be for the best," Obi-Wan agreed. "At least he can bring himself to speak to me." 

Together they went out, finding the Djinn chieftains lined up along the exterior viewing deck and gazing down impassively. A crew extended the gangplank down onto grassy turf, where it came to rest next to a deep, still pool. A thick rill of clean water ran from one end of the pool off through a shrubby grassland; on the other side of the pool dunes of black sand rose in gradual stages out of the grass, growing taller as they rolled in slow ridges toward the horizon. 

Lit from behind by the setting sun, the sand was so black it seemed to reflect almost nothing, just a faint silvery sheen showing at the crest of each dune where the light was strongest. The shadows of the dunes stretched nearly to the pool, but there was still enough light to see to the bottom of the standing water. A dark area showed the channel of the spring vanishing into the bedrock of the land. 

Qui-Gon turned to Sala, who had come out to see him off and hovered nearby, face sober. 

_"Taoiseach,_ I ask you to take legal custody of my companion and my possessions while I swim." 

"I will keep him safe in trust for you," Sala agreed. "And I will see to all your other possessions as well." 

Obi-Wan stepped to Sala's shoulder, his eyes lingering on Qui-Gon's until Qui-Gon forced himself to turn and stride down the gangplank. At the edge of the spring basin Qui-Gon stopped, resisting the impulse to delay. He peeled off his tunics and belt and set them on the grass, then unfastened his boots and hauled them off as well, leaving only his leggings. He passed his lightsaber to Obi-Wan directly, unwilling to leave it on the turf. 

"Is there a ceremony?" he asked Sala. 

"No. We will wait for you to emerge until a day has passed." 

"A full day?" Qui-Gon gazed at the shadowed underwater passage. 

"None have ever returned after more than a day." 

"Fair enough." Qui-Gon stretched his shoulders, feeling the cool springiness of grass between his toes. 

Sala extracted his own knife from his belt-- a wicked 25-centimeter steel blade, single-edged but razor-keen-- and pressed the hilt into Qui-Gon's palm. "May the light smile on you, Ki-Gün." 

"Thank you, Sala. And on you." Qui-Gon nodded, then took the blade between his teeth, its sharp edge facing outward, and dove. 

The water was cold but absolutely clear. Qui-Gon kicked, aiming for the mouth of the dark channel, swimming quickly. If people had survived to come out nearly a day after entering, there must be air available somewhere below the surface. However, there was no guarantee of when or where he would find it. 

Entering the channel he felt the current grow stronger, and he reached out with the Force, but all he could sense was the shaft that lay before him, arrowing down through tumbled boulders deep into the ground. There were no fish or plants, only stone and water. The light faded as he swam forward, leaving him in darkness as the channel began to narrow. He had to stop stroking with his arms, pulling himself forward by handholds instead and taking care to avoid hitting his head on the rough ceiling. 

As a Jedi he could hold his breath far longer than the average human, and so far he was in no distress. But the farther he dove the more he began to wonder how anyone without Jedi abilities could survive such a swim. There must be air pockets concealed somewhere nearby. 

Cold water pressed against him steadily, flowing out into the spring basin. He squeezed his shoulders through a narrow aperture, kicking, and felt the channel open up around him. Swimming upward, feeling cautiously ahead, he was gratified when his hand broke the surface and he rose after it, cautiously tasting the air, then filling his lungs when he discovered it was breathable. 

The chamber was small, judging by the echoes. Reaching up with his knife, Qui-Gon could just scratch the ceiling. He treaded water and let his body acclimatize to the cold, breathing deeply to re-oxygenate his blood. 

As the moments passed, he realized the tunnel was not steeped in pitch blackness; faint light was revealed as his eyes adjusted, a dim glow coming from farther within the earth, just as Sala had forecast. Gazing down into the water, he thought he could make out bones-- long white femurs, curving rib bones, and the rounded dome of a skull. As his eyes acclimated further, he spotted the gleam of metal from a dropped knife. Some hapless Djinn had not been fortunate enough to find the air pocket, or perhaps the water had been higher and there had been none to find. 

When he had regained his breath, Qui-Gon prepared himself again and dove, pressing forward toward the heart of the river. 

As he swam the dim light increased, and he could see that the stone through which the water flowed was obsidian, as black as the dunes of the desert. The rocks at the bottom of the passage were familiar-- rounded river stones, black, just the size to fit into his palm. They were exactly like the one he had given to Obi-Wan, a stone that had been in Qui-Gon's keeping since the Jedi brought him to the Temple on Coruscant. He had not realized its significance then; only that it had come with him from Abhaile.

The growing light brightened as he wriggled around a narrow bend in the passage and drew up short, hanging onto an outcrop. 

Before him the passage widened into an underground lake and the clear waters showed several men hanging suspended at various depths in the wide pool. Despite the noticeable current, nothing about them moved-- their hair and clothing failed to ripple in the water and unlike the skeleton he had spied before, they showed no signs of decay. 

Fear surged through him-- rather more than he would have thought; he was no stranger to death. But something about the motionlessness of the bodies and their perfect preservation set his instincts clamoring with unease. 

_There is no death. There is only the Force._

He eased forward, working to release his emotions into the Force, but they refused to disperse. His discomfort increased with every stroke. Still not feeling the need to breathe, Qui-Gon planned a route through the bodies, a path that would keep him as far from each of them as possible. 

The light was very nearly too bright now, shining around the nearest body with such an intensity that Qui-Gon was forced to squint, his heart hammering without warning. He realized he was in a state of low panic, agitation building with unnatural speed. The water felt like sludge around him, slowing him to a crawl, and a roar of brightness reeled through him, dragging him down. 

_Darth Mallaigh stalked through the Jedi Temple. Wherever he went death blossomed like a poisonous nightshade, its sickly sweet scent filling the air along with the reek of blood and burning. He defeated the pockets of resistance one after another, his master at his side, their blades carving through opponents without difficulty as they worked their way up to the Council chamber._

_Obi-Wan stood before him there, alone, lightsaber in hand and tears on his cheeks. They reflected the crimson of Mallaigh's blade. He could hear Palpatine laughing behind him, laughing and goading him on. "Kill him, my apprentice, and the Jedi Order will be no more!" Qui-Gon prayed for Obi-Wan to fight, lifting his saber, but Obi-Wan dropped his guard, giving up, just as Tahl had done--_

Horrified, Qui-Gon jerked himself out of the false memory, his heart pounding with anguish. The water was so bright he couldn't see, and he could barely move his hands and legs. No longer fluid, the substance was thickening as if it were turning to ice, and he fought it, wasting air as he struggled to thrash his way free, but still it clung to him. _Panic wastes oxygen,_ he told himself, and he worked to release his fear to the Force, reaching for serenity, willing his heart to slow. The clutch of the water loosened as he calmed, letting him slip through it once more-- slowly at first, gaining agonizing inches, then putting the first hanging figure behind him. 

_Psychoreactive agents in the water?_ Qui-Gon theorized, but he could feel another wave of dizzy emotion surging through him, and it rolled him under even as he kicked desperately forward, trying to make as much progress as he could before the vision came. 

_He froze in place, completely immobilized by pure light as the water solidified around him. Cut off from any source of oxygen, he suffocated gradually, lungs straining, unable to draw anything at all as the liquid turned to stone about his body. Above on the green, Obi-Wan waited, pacing through the long night-- but he did not emerge. The Djinn watched, hands on their weapons, waiting._

_When the next evening came, they converged on the off-world invader in their midst. Obi-Wan fought brilliantly, both Qui-Gon's lightsaber and his own in his hands, but the Djinn were too many and they were skilled warriors. They surrounded him, and before long a stun beam penetrated his defenses. He collapsed, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, and they fell on him, knives flashing._

Qui-Gon jerked himself free of the illusion again. This time was worse. He could barely squirm against the grip of the crystalline substance that bound him, but he forced himself not to kick, not to thrash-- to preserve precious oxygen as he waited for calm. The solidifying action of the water seemed to block whatever psychotropics were influencing him, letting him emerge from the hallucinations, giving him time to recover-- if he had enough oxygen to survive the process. 

Eventually the substance relaxed and he pressed forward again, the gelatinous water slowly loosening its grip on him-- he made it past another three frozen figures before turbulent emotions started to build in him again and he could feel the inevitable hardening of the water that surrounded him. 

Qui-Gon stopped when he could swim no further, reaching for the Force, working against the insidious tide of dark emotion-- but once again agitation and anger took him. 

_The cats lay dead about him, scattered as they had fallen, their skins gone. Their blood soaked the earth, crusted over the rocks of their favorite basking ground, staining the stream an ugly red. Maj'lis alone lived, twitching feebly; Qui-Gon could see his lungs moving feebly through the great gash in his belly where poachers had skinned him alive._

_Qui-Gon stepped forward, stomach heaving, brain seething with rage, to administer the only mercy he could, his lightsaber flashing and diving as he ended the cat's suffering. A laugh echoed from the ridge where the poachers' ship hovered._

_Seeing him, the men hauled the cats' skins up the loading ramp, guards pointing blasters casually toward him. Rage built swiftly, overwhelming reason. He launched himself forward with all his might, seeking vengeance, and they were no match for him. His blade vivisected the men with brutal precision, leaving them to suffer and bleed as the cats had done._

_He drank their screams greedily, glad to let his fury ease the pain, willing to give himself to it, if only he could kill them all and never know the anguish of having failed his pack--_

Qui-Gon choked and would have flailed, but crystallized light held him fast, blinding him. He did not know how long he had lost himself, but his breath was gone. He could see himself in his mind's eye, suspended and waiting for the next person who came to brave the River-- 

It would be Obi-Wan, he realized. Obi-Wan would not wait for the Djinn to strike. He would come to find Qui-Gon, to try to bring him out alive. Obi-Wan would face this as well if he did not defeat it himself. 

As his consciousness slid away from him, sparkles coalescing in front of his vision, Qui-Gon pushed away the fury of the last hallucination and reached for the love Obi-Wan offered. He remembered the gentle peace he had felt while holding Obi-Wan aboard the barge. 

The water softened just enough to allow him to move. With fast-waning strength he forced his limbs to work, an agonizing slow-motion race as he struggled to force his arm through the semi-solid crystal to reach his breathing gill. His fingers closed around it, moving faster as the water began to replace the crystal. He spat out Sala's knife and fumbled the gill into his mouth. Air filled his lungs, and he could have sobbed with the relief of it-- humid and sour with the tang of the gill's oxygenating chemicals, it was still one of the sweetest things he had ever tasted. 

He saw the knife falling slowly, and clumsily missed his attempt to catch its hilt; it slid out of reach, then fell swiftly as it left the area where the water had hardened. He let it sink, looking upward. Only a few feet above him the surface shimmered, promising an air pocket. Qui-Gon kicked for it with relief. 

Surfacing, he spat the gill into his hand, dashing water from his eyes. 

The source of the light lay before him: a tall column of crystal formed an island in the midst of the pool. Water trickled along its length. It shone from within, pure and pulsating, a light of clear white-gold like the radiance from a young star. Where the water ran, the stone shaded from ebony to clear crystal, so pure that the stone was indistinguishable from the water itself. 

Around the feet of the column lay tumbled fragments and stalactite shards shading from glass-clear to dull black; as he watched a new shard fell from the roof, rolling nearly to the water. It was clear, living crystal and soft light glowed inside it, shining an invitation to him. He could feel the Force strongly, and he sensed that the crystal lived, somehow-- not sentient but aware, responding to his presence. 

His curiosity and wonder did not seem to provoke the same crystallization matrix as negative emotions did, and that was a relief. If he could continue to break the visions and then channel his emotions positively he might be able to escape without serious difficulty. 

Qui-Gon swam forward and clambered onto the lip of the column where it spread out as it entered the water, then took up the fallen shard, which gleamed softly in his hand, smooth and heavy. A core of radiant light pulsed in its heart, taking up the rhythm of Qui-Gon's own pulse. It felt inexpressibly good to hold the shard, its warm weight sending peace and well-being through him. With it in his hand, he might have no trouble at all with negative emotions as he departed. 

He glanced around the cave, which seemed to be a natural formation, its polished obsidian walls gleaming, a faint sheen of golden light scintillating across them. It was inexpressibly beautiful, a place of pure peace, a Light Side nexus that rejected dark emotions entirely, freezing any source of anger or fear and locking it away before it could reach the heart. 

Humbled, Qui-Gon set his palm against the thick column of light. It pulsed with him, sinking peace deep inside his soul, accepting him. 

He could not tell how deep the water went, but he thought he could see the opening of another passage near the bottom of the pool behind the crystal column. It would have to wait for another explorer; he had what he had come for. 

Replacing his gill between his teeth, Qui-Gon slid back into the water, steeling himself for a renewed ordeal, but as he had hoped, the shard eased his fears. The current pushed him forward without further resistance. 

Soon he ducked below the surface to find the entry passage, the shard in his hand lighting his way as he swam through the tunnel and up toward the surface. Removing his gill, he replaced it in hiding before he emerged into the pool and kicked for the surface, holding the shard aloft in his fist. 

The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, leaving only a brilliant orange glow suffusing through the sky, and the crystal in his hand gleamed, pushing back the dark and lighting the faces of the Djinn who stood waiting for him. A low gasp echoed through their ranks, their eyes fixed on the shard. 

Obi-Wan stepped forward, extending his hand, and Qui-Gon caught it, scrambling up as Obi-Wan helped haul him out of the pool. 

Sala held out a bowl half-full of river water. "We must immerse it to keep it alive," Sala murmured, reverent, and Qui-Gon laid the shard in the basin at his prompting. The glass bowl caught and focused the glow from the heart of the shard, which waxed and grew bright. Eerie shadows danced on Sala's face as he gazed at the crystal fragment, then raised it high in both hands for all to see. 

Qui-Gon lifted his head, staring around at the glittering eyes that watched. "I am Qui-Gon of the Djinn, _taoiseach_ of Neishan, and you will hear me," he said simply, and found Majnun's face among the crowd, stopping there, meeting the man's eyes with a challenge. 

Majnun inclined his head, accepting. "We will hear you, chief of chiefs." His lips curved upward with wry approval. 

Kelonaht spat a curse and whirled, stalking away into the barge. 

Sala started up the gangplank, bowl in hand, but Qui-Gon lingered, letting Obi-Wan towel him briskly and help him into his robe. Obi-Wan fell in at his side before he too began to climb. "You were right," he murmured in his lover's ear, the clamor of the Djinn chieftains drowning out his words. "I needed the gill, and I need you." There would be time to explain the details later. 

Obi-Wan smiled.

****************************

GLOSSARY

Abhaile: Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "home." The name of Qui-Gon's homeworld, according to me, since George didn't see fit to provide us with one. Let's not quibble over whether this is the noun or the adverb form of the word, shall we? If you feel the need, just go get a nice tall pint glass of Guinness and meditate on the willing suspension of disbelief until you feel better. If that doesn't work, try it again with the same amount of Bushmill's or Jameson. If you still want to argue about grammar after that, I'll totally take you up on it. 

Anait: A Djinn guard with one of the worst job duties you could ever get stuck with. He needs a new pair of undies. 

_Cac capaill:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "horseshit." Again, if you're stressing about there not being horses in a GFFA, I refer you to SciFi shows such as "Firefly" and invite you to relax. If that fails, pretend "capaill" means "bantha." Plus, you don't need to sell me death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life. *sweeping hand gesture* 

_Ciach ort:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "damn you." 

Clan Failbhe: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. Pretty poor compared to equatorial clans, but one of the stronger ones in their immediate area. Led by Kelonaht. 

Clan Neishan: Qui-Gon's ancestral clan, now more or less extinct except for a few distant relatives who were mostly subsumed into Ruidhri. 

Clan Lathurna: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. By far the least powerful clan in their immediate area, under extreme threat of extinction due to starvation and attack from neighboring clans. Led by Sala. 

Clan Ruidhri: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. Slightly more powerful than Failbhe. Pretty poor compared to equatorial clans, but one of the stronger ones in their immediate area. Led by some guy who gets, like, two lines. He's not important. Don't stress over him. Please note: this is NOT Majnun's clan; I never gave his clan an official name, so there. 

Dejarik: A strategy game, very like chess. You saw it played when Threepio told Artoo to let the wookiee win. See Wookieepedia 

Janu: A low-class Djinn sent to pick up Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from their landing platform. Black hair, etc. Think "really tall Maori." Racially representative of Lathurna, a minority clan. 

_Ki-Gün Djinn is ainm dom. Cad is ainm duit?:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "Qui-Gon Jinn is my name. What's your name?" 

Kelonaht: Taoiseach of Failbhe. I've based him on an older Clint Eastwood, just for the hell of it. GO AHEAD, JEDI PUNK. MAKE MY DAY! 

_Mo athair:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "my father." 

_Mo dhearthàir:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "my brother." 

Sala: The taoiseach of Lathurna. His look is based loosely on Sala Baker. 

_Taoiseach:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "leader" or "chieftain."


	3. Epilogue

Sunlight reflected off the surface of Coruscant in ragged, faceted bursts, the radiance catching millions of windows, an ever-changing illusion of movement that followed the trajectory of Tiran's small ship as it descended through the atmosphere. 

"Are you all right?" Obi-Wan tilted his head toward Qui-Gon, who sat pensive at his console, his gaze avoiding the viewscreen as they passed over The Works, smudges of its bitter smoke streaming past the hull of the ship. 

"I'm well enough," Qui-Gon answered quietly. His time in that place was behind him now. He glanced up, looking ahead to the Jedi Temple. "I dread this." 

Obi-Wan grimaced. "We could have gone on to Xinune and reported in via holo-transmission." 

"No, this needs to be done in person." The terms of the proposed deal with the Djinn must be handled precisely and without equivocation or the whole carefully constructed bargain might still disintegrate. 

"I suspect you're right." Obi-Wan locked them on to the landing beacon at the Temple. "I understand that it's a difficult moment." He reached to ruffle Chattan's fur. The cat tolerated him, tail-tip twitching slightly. 

Obi-Wan withdrew his hand, not pushing his luck, eyeing the cat with a wry grin. "One of these days I'll get you to purr," he told the cat, and Qui-Gon chuckled at them both while rising to make his way out to the boarding ramp. 

Obi-Wan supervised the landing and joined him. Qui-Gon tied a leather headband bearing his clan sigil around his head to push back his lengthening hair, just long enough now to dangle inconveniently in front of his eyes if not restrained. He pulled up his hood, settling it carefully over his face. 

"That headband will certainly deliver a message about your loyalties to the Council," Obi-Wan observed wryly. "You're carrying your taozin nodule, too, aren't you?" His voice sounded amused. "Well, I suppose that's one way to avoid advertising your triumphant return." 

"Do you have yours?" 

"I do." Obi-Wan's cheeks pinkened faintly as Qui-Gon gave him a knowing look. "Purely to remain in solidarity with you, of course." 

Qui-Gon stretched out his senses, eyes closing for a moment. "Yoda is waiting on the landing platform," he noted. "If we hoped to remain unobserved, he will see to it that we are not." 

"Maybe it's part of his job description," Obi-Wan joked, but he raised his own hood, mirroring Qui-Gon. They strode down the ramp together, measuring their steps so that neither surged ahead nor fell behind. 

Yoda stood alone, wind tangling his sparse white hair, gazing up at them. 

"Master Jinn and Knight Kenobi." Yoda's tone scolded and greeted simultaneously. "An empty ship, another Jedi would think this," he chided them both. "Distress the control technicians, you have." 

"My apologies, Master Yoda," Qui-Gon acknowledged blandly. 

"Hmmf. Come with me to the Council Chamber." Yoda climbed into his hover chair and led them forward. "Waiting they are." 

They strode through the entry and the Temple spread out before them-- high, austere ceilings, quiet decor, and soft-treading robed Jedi moving purposefully about the place, each intent on his or her own personal goals. 

Qui-Gon swallowed hard, glad of Obi-Wan's calm presence by his side; too many emotions filled him for rapid processing. After sabotaging the archive's records of Kamino, he had never hoped to come here again, not as a Jedi-- at best he might return as a fugitive and a captive. At worst he might have come as a deadly enemy of the Order, doing violence on the Jedi who lived here. He felt keenly uncomfortable, unwelcome and out of sync with his past. Some fading part of him noted and cataloged weaknesses, ways to attack the Order. He shivered. 

Obi-Wan sensed his disquiet and stepped closer. "I'm sure Master Windu is looking forward to this nearly as much as we," he murmured. "Do you suppose he already has a headache?" 

Yoda chortled, eavesdropping. "Dreaded this moment, has he, ever since I announced Qui-Gon's reinstatement." He cackled, tapping his claws against the head of his stick. "Good for him, a difference of opinion is." 

"We will not compromise on the terms of our bargain," Qui-Gon warned. 

"Reviewed your agreement the Council has. Arrangements have been made and freighters dispatched. The deliveries only await final authorization." Yoda's eyes danced as he glanced up to Qui-Gon. "Tell you this, I should not!" 

"You're an incorrigible manipulator," Obi-Wan observed. Qui-Gon could hear his amusement clearly. 

"Much political clout have you now from defeating the Sith. The truth, Interim Chancellor Mon Mothma knows." Yoda preceded them serenely and activated the tower lift. "Discuss your agreement you will, and try not to antagonize Councilor Windu unnecessarily, yes?" 

"Yes, Master Yoda." 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon entered the chamber together, lowering their hoods as custom required. Qui-Gon managed to remain calm under the keen stares of the Councilors, but none challenged him. 

He stood back and let Obi-Wan present the terms of the agreement-- primarily a standard request for foodstuffs, seeds and plant cuttings, and livestock in exchange for water, to be collected from the seas of Abhaile and desalinated for use on Coruscant-- and secondarily a plea for Jedi Agricorps worker, to assess the damage to Abhaile's environment and suggest ways to repopulate the native animals that would be needed to maintain the planetary biospheres. 

"I think I speak for us all when I say the Council agrees to the terms of this bargain," Windu finally announced, sonorous voice calm. "We will implement it immediately." 

"Thank you, Master Windu." Obi-Wan bowed. 

As the assembled Councilors nodded their agreement, Windu's eyes slid from Obi-Wan to Qui-Gon, who stood quietly, effaced. 

"Welcome back, Master Jinn." Windu's voice was decidedly more guarded, but remained polite. 

"I thank you, Councilor Windu." Qui-Gon bowed. "But I do not plan to linger on Coruscant for long. Much work remains to be done in the Temple on Xinune. I have learned that the clone armies have been deprogrammed-- especially the military orders that were placed into their minds, such as Order 66, an order for the clones to assassinate all Jedi on sight. It is an order I believe Darth Sidious very nearly succeeded in activating before he died." 

The Councilors murmured among themselves uneasily at that, and Qui-Gon paused to let the noise die down before continuing. "My sources indicate the clones are ready to be retrained, but that you have as yet arranged no special use for them." 

Yoda shook his head in mock despair and leaned his forehead against his stick. Obi-Wan very nearly laughed aloud, converting it to a cough at the last moment. 

A single muscle twitched in Windu's temple. "So I am told," he observed, voice cool. 

"I would like to request their assistance with a great humanitarian work Knight Kenobi and I have planned. Numerous worlds still need to recover from the predations of the Trade Federation. I already have a command infrastructure in place on many of them. My operatives can direct the clones, who will help the citizens of each world rebuild and work to raise food for themselves. The clones will gradually become integrated into the cultures of the worlds they serve. In this way they should form a valuable resource for the long-term well-being of the entire Republic." 

"This is an excellent idea, and it should solve two problems that have been of great concern to this Council." Ki-Adi Mundi inclined his head with grave respect. "If we are agreed?" He glanced around the Council chamber, receiving nods from all and a wave of aggravated acceptance from Windu. "I will meet with you holographically to discuss further arrangements, Qui-Gon." 

"I look forward to a future of cooperation with the Temple on Coruscant," Qui-Gon agreed mildly, glancing askance at Windu. 

"As do we all, I'm sure." Mace rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Have you any other suggestions?" 

Qui-Gon paused, as if to think. "Not at this time," he finally said, tone deliberately magnanimous. 

"Excellent." Windu's mouth twisted wryly as he raised his head. "May the Force be with you." 

"May the Force be with you," Qui-Gon echoed, speaking in unison with Obi-Wan, and they stepped out of the Council Chamber together, riding the lift down into the Temple proper. 

"You're impossible," Obi-Wan accused him, eyes sparkling with laughter. "You're going to enjoy driving him insane, aren't you?" 

"I always did." Qui-Gon kept his face serene, raising his hood again. "Shall we go?" 

"Soon," Obi-Wan chuckled. "We'll have company on our way back to Xinune." 

"Oh?" 

"Yes." Obi-Wan colored slightly. "While you were negotiating with the Djinn, I was negotiating with Yoda. A general call will go out to the Jedi, officially announcing the new Temple and its brotherhood to the Temple on Coruscant. Many Jedi are already interested in making it their base or in working between the two Temples. Now that we've established the Xinune temples humanitarian intent more will come, I'm certain." Obi-Wan had a faintly abstracted look, as though he were seeing the future-- and perhaps he was. "Yoda has asked to accompany us himself in order to oversee the establishment of our Council. He believes his overt approval will help lend our facility additional legitimacy." 

"And give him an implicit position of influence on Xinune, as well," Qui-Gon commented, cynical but tolerant. 

"As it should be," Obi-Wan agreed mildly. "Would you like to go by our old quarters and pick anything up? I left your possessions undisturbed there," he admitted. "I suppose I always hoped you'd return." 

Qui-Gon smiled. "We may need those rooms again one day. For now? I have the only thing I need right here beside me." 

Obi-Wan flushed quite beautifully, which made Qui-Gon wish they were not in a public corridor. It was more difficult than he'd expected to find the right moment for what he wanted. Obi-Wan felt it, too, he knew-- the constraint to wait until nothing else would intrude, venturing only chaste kisses and gentle embraces until then, banking the growing heat between them and waiting for the perfect moment to indulge it fully. 

"We'll be home soon," Obi-Wan said softly, perceiving his thought. 

"Not soon enough." Qui-Gon led them back toward the docking platform, glad when none of the other Jedi approached them. Now that he had been officially accepted back into the Order, there would be time enough to renew old acquaintances; for the moment he preferred to keep to his solitude with Obi-Wan. 

"This place could use more light. And some greenery." Obi-Wan looked about. "It's more oppressive than I'd ever realized, and it's weak in the Living Force." 

"It fits with the culture on Coruscant," Qui-Gon agreed. "The Living Force is weak all over the planet. It needs plants and animals, natural landscapes and running water, in order to manifest properly." 

"Maybe that's one reason it wasn't possible for the Councilors to use the Force to discover Palpatine." 

"Perhaps." Qui-Gon considered the idea. "The Unifying Force also works best when properly balanced." 

Obi-Wan nodded absently, his mind already running elsewhere as they reached the landing platform and keyed the ramp to enter Tiran's ship. "Do you truly think it was wise to appoint Majnun as the liaison between the Djinn and the Republic?" 

"He has the most experience dealing with off-worlders, and he's a shrewd leader. He values his kin above anything else," Qui-Gon explained. "Not only do I think he's the right man to look out for the Djinn's interests, but I suspect he'll be chosen to represent Abhaile in the Senate soon after the clans discover that not all off-worlders are as untrustworthy as the Hutts and decide to petition for membership." 

"Kelonaht won't like it." 

"He's a bully, but he's only one man-- and he leads only one clan, a much smaller one than the wealthy equatorial clans." Never mind that Majnun's clan was also small; he was smarter than Kelonaht and more resourceful. 

"Nevertheless," Obi-Wan studied Qui-Gon thoughtfully, "he expected you to pursue the issue of your clan's destruction, and so did I. It's possible that he participated in the raid that killed your parents, you know," Obi-Wan pressed.

Qui-Gon recognized that he was being tested, but he did not resent it. 

"That is in the past, and he will have to satisfy the Force's justice. I do not need to be its agent, I think." Qui-Gon shrugged, dismissing a flicker of lingering anger over his family's fate. 

"I can't change what was done, but my success in the river's heart cost Kelonaht a good deal of status among the clan chiefs. Now that Sala's influence has grown due to our alliance, I think the amount of harm Kelonaht can cause even in his domain will be limited. If not? Sala knows how to reach me." He smiled, letting just a hint of satisfaction show. "I think Kelonaht is aware of that." 

"You have set aside your anger at Kelonaht and Failbhe," Obi-Wan observed quietly. "Do you still intend to pursue vengeance against Dramacore?" 

"No," Qui-Gon said softly. "My anger toward them is forgotten now that you are with me once more." 

"I don't want to be your weakness," Obi-Wan said quietly. 

"I think the Force desired my anger with Dramacore. If I had not pursued them, I would not have discovered that Palpatine was Darth Sidious. After I discovered that, revenge no longer mattered." Qui-Gon stepped closer to Obi-Wan's side. "And perhaps you are my weakness, but you are also my strength." 

"That's a better way to think of it." Obi-Wan's eyes met his, warm and peaceful. 

The ramp thumped down and they began to climb, meeting Chattan at the top. The cat wrinkled his nose at the scent of the air, and Qui-Gon chuckled, scooping him up and ruffling his ears. 

"I still think that beast will shred me one day," Obi-Wan said ruefully. 

"He likes you," Qui-Gon corrected him patiently, trying not to smirk. "He's just jealous." 

Obi-Wan laughed all the way to the cockpit, where they learned that Yoda would be boarding shortly. Obi-Wan obtained clearance for departure prior to his arrival. 

Yoda arrived soon after the Council session ended, growing very cross with Chattan, who kept twining around him as he tried to move about the ship, head-butting him nearly hard enough to knock him down and purring when Yoda complained. 

"I suppose Chattan likes Master Yoda better than he likes me?" Obi-Wan asked as they cleared the atmosphere and neared their departure point. 

"He likes you both very well, but he isn't jealous of Yoda," Qui-Gon said serenely, and Obi-Wan was laughing yet again as he pulled back the throttle and the stars streaked into infinity. 

*****

If Qui-Gon had thought his return to Coruscant nerve-wracking, coming out of hyperspace near Xinune taught him better. His sense of jittery agitation felt as if he were being devoured alive by insects.

When he had left there was only the facility and its potential: the Palazzo, his plans, his arrangements, and an uncertain future. Now he could sense how the place had grown-- even from orbit he could feel the questing, purposeful minds that waited there, the Jedi who half-expected him to lead them. 

A tap at his door stirred him from his worries. "Come in," he called, unsurprised to see Yoda waiting when the door slid aside. 

"You are afraid," Yoda observed, hobbling in to stand at Qui-Gon's side. 

"Yes," he said simply. "I can feel them waiting: so many souls. So many futures to guide. How do you bear the responsibility?" 

"Their own to bear, much of this responsibility is. Not yours." Yoda shook his head fondly. "But yes. Responsibility you have to guide them as best you can. Sometimes will come success, sometimes failure. Always guilt when you fail. Always pride when they achieve." Yoda tapped Qui-Gon's thigh with his gimer stick. "Not alone are you. Advice I can give, when you seek it. And Obi-Wan has much wisdom to offer." 

"Yes," Qui-Gon agreed quietly. "In spite of me. In spite of everything." 

Yoda's eyes sparkled. "False modesty is this? And what of my own teaching?" 

"Whatever events and teachings have shaped him, he is a greater Jedi than I ever hoped." Qui-Gon reached out again, sensing anew the hearts and minds that waited. 

"Some will use their pain and grow wise, like Obi-Wan, and others will be destroyed by it and fall, like Xanatos. It is the way of the Force." Yoda considered him thoughtfully. "Come," he suggested. "Much that you have worked for will now come to pass." 

Qui-Gon followed Yoda out to the cockpit, watching as they descended across the ocean and docked in the cliffside hangar-- where he was glad to see his old ship had been retrieved. It awaited him patiently. 

Obi-Wan finished his post-flight shutdown and rose. The three of them went out together into the near-abandoned hangar. 

"If I know Gida, the entire compound is waiting to greet us in the main hall." Obi-Wan chuckled. "We're just in time for dinner." 

"If we take the lift directly to the living quarters we can escape the gathering." Qui-Gon noted that Obi-Wan ignored him, choosing the main hall as their destination floor. Yoda cackled to himself, and he elected to let the old troll's mockery pass unremarked. 

"You'll have to make a speech at dinner, too. But you've never had any difficulty finding something to say." Obi-Wan winked at him. 

"Why do I have a feeling that I am going to be a figurehead in my own Temple?" 

Obi-Wan just smirked and stood aside as the lift opened, revealing the main hall, its stairways and floors filled with Jedi and members of the staff-- and the royal family. 

"Tiran!" Qui-Gon forgot his nerves, stepping forward to embrace the King, ignoring Queen Ashea's scowl-- he had not known whether to expect them to attend his arrival. "Brilliant work with the Separatists, though I should turn you over my knee for it." 

"It's good to have you back, Qui-Gon." Tiran grinned at him. "I'm much less glad to see Obi-Wan, but I suppose I'll have to put up with him, too." The warmth of the hug he bestowed on Obi-Wan made a lie of his words, and Qui-Gon was pleased to see that the two had resolved their differences. 

Gida stood nearby, quivering with excitement, her sense of duty holding her back. Qui-Gon gave her a smile and Obi-Wan winked at her, so she stepped forward, clasping each of their hands in turn. 

"Welcome back. I've made your favorites. And welcome, Master Yoda. I have something special prepared for you as well." 

"Now you see the real leader of the Xinune Temple," Qui-Gon inclined his head at her, and Yoda nodded firmly. 

"Wisdom, you speak." His ears tilted up as much as Qui-Gon had ever seen them. "Eat, we should, before the food grows cold. Yes?" 

"Yes." Qui-Gon raised his voice, aware of the curiosity of the watching Jedi and feeling undercurrents of their uncertainty, an echo of his own. They needed him to be strong and certain in this moment, so he would be. 

"Thank you all for coming. I'm honored to see so many of you here, and I look forward to the work we will do together." It seemed to be all that was needed; smiles and approval radiated from the crowd, a heady sensation that allowed him relief. "Let's go in to the refectory." He pushed the door aside, allowing the Jedi to enter. 

When everyone was inside they remained standing, looking to him. He searched the crowd, seeing many faces, including the places that should have been filled by those who were missing, lost on Geonosis or before, their absence painful to him-- he spied Bant Eerin among them and could no longer escape the memory of Tahl and his own guilt in her death. 

She gazed at him soberly as he stepped forward to her, reaching tentatively for her hand. 

She accepted and he squeezed her fingers gently, sensing her forgiveness. He knew he would always be unworthy of it, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. "Your master is the first and greatest hero of this Order," he told her quietly, his voice husky with sorrow. "I will commemorate her with a statue in the gardens and she will never be forgotten. Each year when we celebrate the founding of this Temple, we will also mourn her loss and celebrate her life." 

A tear slid over Bant's cheek, and he crushed her to him in an apologetic hug, feeling his own eyes threaten to overflow. It was not enough; it could never be enough. But he would do what he could. 

Obi-Wan's hand fell on his shoulder and he released Bant, who managed a watery smile, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. 

Obi-Wan smiled at Bant, then tugged gently at Qui-Gon, guiding him toward the head table. 

The head chair was empty, waiting for him. Obi-Wan stepped aside; he and Yoda stood behind the chairs at either side of it, waiting. 

Qui-Gon took the chair back between his hands, feeling the solid posts of its back smooth against his palms, and surveyed the group again: their expectant faces, their calm, competent potential. 

He felt himself smile, his heart filling. "Tomorrow, with the oversight of Grand Master Yoda of the Coruscant Temple, we will gather to elect our own Council, and that Council will choose our leadership. The Force will be with us," he said simply. When he sat, they all followed him. 

It seemed the meal would last forever, but he hardly tasted it amidst the welcomes and the questions and the new business that must be attended: three Djinn families had already contacted the Xinune Temple, requesting his help with their Force-sensitive children. A facility and training would have to be readied for them immediately. 

There were dozens of other urgent matters to be handled as well, pressing business that occupied him long after the meal was finished. Gida wanted authorization to buy or lease land to raise food rather than buying it, additional staff must be hired for cleaning and maintenance, meetings must be scheduled with diplomats, missions assigned to assist field operatives too long left to their own devices, and Mundi was eager to discuss the deployment of several hundred thousand clones. Mon Mothma wanted his approval on a proposal to create a nature preserve on Chandar so that the arranhar need not ever fear capture again. 

"Tell me there are other candidates for Grand Master?" He raised weary eyes to Obi-Wan, who was busy at his own comm panel. "I could recuse myself from the selection before it begins." 

"I think you're stuck with it." Obi-Wan rubbed his neck, stifling a yawn. "And you wouldn't have it any other way." 

Qui-Gon raised a forbidding brow at Obi-Wan, but he couldn't restrain the humor that curved his mouth. 

"I believe I've put out all the fires that required my immediate attention." Obi-Wan shut off the comm. "And you?" 

"I have a few more messages to send." 

Obi-Wan rose, stretching slowly, arms over his head, the long lines of his robe flowing gently around his body. "Don't be too long," he said, and his level gaze met Qui-Gon's, soft with promise. 

Qui-Gon's breath caught in his chest. "I won't." 

Obi-Wan slipped out, pausing only to let his palm caress the line of Qui-Gon's arm and shoulder before he went. 

Qui-Gon sat, staring sightlessly at his comm terminal, trying to recall what he had been doing, completely unable to gather his thoughts. His body was aflame, his mind in shambles. 

Slowly he closed the files where he had been working, watching his hands as if they were not his own, distantly noting the tremor in his fingers. 

He rose, returning the greetings of friends as he went out, mounting the stair toward the upper levels. Chattan joined him at the landing, pacing proudly in his wake with tail daintily aloft, a noiseless shadow. It was already dark, the glass ceiling scattered with stars, the scent of flowers muted. The Jedi he passed smiled and nodded, but they let him go onward without delay until he reached his rooms. 

He keyed the door, drawing a deep breath, but his room was empty, the coverlet pulled back on his bed. Something lay on his pillow. 

When he investigated, he found a foot-long coil of braided hair lying there-- Obi-Wan's padawan braid, kept for him. He picked it up, touching it to his lips-- another honor he hardly deserved. His eyes closed and he battled tears for a long moment, then carried the braid to his desk, gently arranging it on the shelf where he could see it every day when he sat down. 

The room seemed all but unchanged; he glanced at the door that led to his meditation room, wondering if Obi-Wan had found the gifts Qui-Gon once left for him there. 

They would not be needed tonight, regardless. 

A pleasant shiver chased itself through his spine as he shouldered out of his robe, laying it over the back of his chair, then loosened his belt and removed his tunics, putting them aside to be laundered. He left his boots by the bed, padded into the bath, and showered carefully, taking extra time and care to cleanse himself He did not indulge his body's desire, content to wait. 

The door between his rooms and Obi-Wan's had opened by the time he emerged, wearing only a white absorbent robe. There was no sign of the cat. The lights were out, the windows clear, and his fireplace was lit, flames flickering brightly, the only illumination in the room. 

He sensed Obi-Wan's presence only a moment before Obi-Wan touched him, taking the brush from his fingers and the towel from his hair. 

"Do you plan to let your hair grow long again?" His voice was low and sensual. 

"Yes." Qui-Gon answered, sitting down to let Obi-Wan tend him. 

"Good." Obi-Wan tousled his hair with the towel to dry it, brushed it out, and tousled it again. "I like it that way." 

Qui-Gon purred a nonverbal answer, loving the feel of Obi-Wan's fingers on his head through the towel and the scratch of the rough brush against his scalp. 

When his hair was dry enough he rose, turning to Obi-Wan, and found him freshly washed but still clad in all his layers excepting only his boots. 

"I thought you might like to undress me." Obi Wan smiled at him, blushing faintly, then looked past him to the coiled braid lying on Qui-Gon's desk, his eyes warming with approval. 

"I'd enjoy that very much." Qui-Gon slid his fingers inside Obi-Wan's robe, easing it back and off his shoulders, letting it drop. Obi-Wan's gaze followed him, pupils dark; he stood close, lifting his arms to allow Qui-Gon to unwrap his belt and sash, his body graceful and lithe. Qui-Gon's heart hammered but he forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, peeling each garment away individually and folding it carefully before setting it aside. 

By the time he slid his hands under the final layer of tunics Obi-Wan was breathing harshly, the low gush of air hot against Qui-Gon's skin as he leaned in to taste the warm, clean skin at the hollow of Obi-Wan's throat. 

He paused there, kissing his way along Obi-Wan's collarbone, letting his hands explore the strong-muscled back and lean waist, then venture below Obi-Wan's waistband, settling on the firm muscles of Obi-Wan's ass and dragging the young man up tight against him. 

Obi-Wan moaned softly, tipping his head back, and Qui-Gon took advantage of the movement to kiss and nip along the strong lines of his throat, almost unable to believe that this was real-- that they were here at last, free to love each other as both had wanted for many lonely years. 

Obi-Wan was unimaginably beautiful, gilded by firelight, his hair like flame, holding Qui-Gon so carefully it almost seemed Obi-Wan thought he might break. 

The only craft Qui-Gon had ever developed at this was either solitary or based in imagination; he felt oddly shy, inadequate, and uncertain how best to please the beautiful man in his arms. He hesitated, covering his nerves by peppering Obi-Wan with slow, aching kisses, mapping his face and throat until Obi-Wan caught his hands and gently urged Qui-Gon to peel his leggings off him. 

They slid down to his knees and Obi-Wan stepped out of them, the play of his lean muscles making Qui-Gon's breath hitch in his throat. Then he reached for Qui-Gon impatiently, untying the belt of his robe and flicking it off his shoulders with a rapid, urgent gesture, letting it fall to the floor unheeded. 

His eyes drank greedily of Qui-Gon's body. Qui-Gon made himself stand still and allow it without showing his shyness, feeling his face heat under the pressure of Obi-Wan's frank regard. Obi-Wan's chest rose and fell rapidly, his eyes kindling, and Qui-Gon was caught off-guard as he dove in, crushing their bodies together and seeking Qui-Gon's mouth. 

Obi-Wan's tongue probed for entry, hot and insistent, and Qui-Gon granted it, his own passion swelling to meet Obi-Wan's, which prodded eagerly against his belly. He shifted, reaching to align them, and Obi-Wan groaned into his mouth, tongue stroking into him sweetly as Qui-Gon's hand closed around both their cocks. 

Though he knew his own shaft well, the feel of Obi-Wan was still new and surprising to him-- velvet silk over hardness, his cock felt intoxicatingly hot, slippery with moisture at the tip. Qui-Gon could not resist the urge to explore, testing the swollen shaft and the wiry hair at its base, rolling Obi-Wan's balls slowly in his palm. Hesitance fading, he let himself enjoy the sensation of Obi-Wan's shaft in his hand and listen to Obi-Wan's soft whimpers, to kiss Obi-Wan and feel how much he was undone by just this simple manipulation. 

He tore his mouth away suddenly, breath harsh in his chest-- he wanted so much he could not choose: he wanted to topple Obi-Wan onto the mattress and ravish him, wanted to stand passive and see what Obi-Wan would do, wanted to let his beloved devour him and show him how this was done. He wanted to fill his mouth with Obi-Wan, to feel Obi-Wan inside him... to do everything he could imagine. 

Obi-Wan laughed softly, sensing his dilemma, and pressed at his shoulders, walking him back to the bed and pushing him down onto it. The firelight cast tantalizing shadows over Obi-Wan's body; his eyes gleamed, deep and warm. 

More than anything, Qui-Gon realized, he wanted to give Obi-Wan everything, more pleasure than he had ever dreamed. 

Qui-Gon reached blindly, catching Obi-Wan's shaft. He bent his head, clumsily taking the tip in his mouth, licking and tasting salt. He shivered, hands sliding behind Obi-Wan's ass, pulling him forward between Qui-Gon's knees. 

"You're too tall to do it this way," Obi-Wan protested, smiling. "You'll hurt your neck." 

Qui-Gon ignored him and slid to his knees, just as Obi-Wan had done for him. 

"That's bett-- oh!" Obi-Wan cried out, a strangled shout, and it _was_ better. He slid all the way down Obi-Wan's stiff shaft, glad of the solitary practices that would help him please his lover, savoring the heat of him, loving the whimpering gasp his sudden motion dragged from Obi-Wan's throat. He swallowed around Obi-Wan, forcing that ragged cry from him again, and bobbed over the shaft in his mouth, sucking hard. 

Obi-Wan's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling; he looked up to meet Obi-Wan's pleasure-dazed eyes, and his cock surged at the sight. He slowed, sliding his mouth down and back up again once more, watching the way Obi-Wan swallowed convulsively, watching the rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest. He held Obi-Wan's shaft in the palm of his hand, pulling off, and dragged his cheek against it, smearing the wetness of his own mouth onto his face. Obi-Wan's hands clenched to fists, his head tipping back. 

Looking up at him, Qui-Gon understood, suddenly, precisely how he wanted this to go. 

He kissed the strong young cock again and again, his eyes sliding shut, scenting Obi-Wan's musk, one hand kneading Obi-Wan's muscular ass. "Please," he heard himself murmur over and over again, almost inaudible, wanting so much the power of it nearly cracked him into splinters. He had taken; he had accepted pleasure, but he'd never been had-- never been possessed and filled, never surrendered himself up. Never been taken. 

It was time to give himself. 

He raised his eyes, pleading, nuzzling at Obi-Wan's belly. Then he rose, sliding into the bed and drawing Obi-Wan down after him. He lay on his back and pulled Obi-Wan over him, parting his thighs to accept Obi-Wan's solid weight, turning his head to the side and offering up his throat as he pulled Obi-Wan down to kiss him. 

"Yes," Obi-Wan purred, and he did, gracefully taking control. He devoured Qui-Gon's throat, one hand on his jaw, holding his head still, mouth both soft and hard, marking him. Qui-Gon writhed under the force of the kisses, the delicate bites; Obi-Wan's cock burned him like a brand, and he thrust against it mindlessly until Obi-Wan slid down and he lost its touch. 

He heard himself whimper a protest, but all sense fled his mind when Obi-Wan's mouth sealed over his ringed nipple, and Obi-Wan's sharp white teeth worried the hard flesh, sending sensation crackling through Qui-Gon like lightning. 

He arched, bucking up with all his might, but Obi-Wan rode him, teeth precise and savage, sending flare after flare of pleasure arcing straight to his cock. Obi-Wan's nails found his other nipple and dug in, twisting. Qui-Gon heard himself scream, his fingers knotting in the sheets, ripping them with a low purring hiss as he exploded without warning, coming so hard his vision went white, pain and pleasure indistinguishable as he lost himself. 

He rediscovered self-awareness slowly; his throat harsh and raw, every muscle quivering and disobedient. Obi-Wan lapped softly at his chest and belly, cleaning him, tongue as gentle as his teeth had been fierce. 

"Obi-Wan--!" he husked, and felt his lover smile against his skin. Obi-Wan raised himself, feline in his grace, his eyes intent, predatory with lust as he studied Qui-Gon. 

He withdrew for a moment, reaching to the bed-table, and Qui-Gon watched hazily as he wrapped a narrow leather strap about the base of Qui-Gon's cock and his balls, pulling it tight through the buckle. 

Qui-Gon moaned at the rough constriction of the leather, sinking his teeth in his lip as Obi-Wan cinched the strap another notch tighter, not letting him lose any more of his half-faded erection. "Shhh," Obi-Wan soothed him, hand warm on his belly. "I want you to come again, but not before we're ready." He leaned in, kissing Qui-Gon, his mouth rich and bitter; Qui-Gon accepted it eagerly, trying to lift his head to pursue Obi-Wan's kisses when he pulled away. 

"Roll over." Obi-Wan pressed against his shoulder, and Qui-Gon let himself be moved, still lazy and uncoordinated from his orgasm. 

Obi-Wan's mouth trailed over his shoulders, kissing and nipping, then descended along his spine, tongue drawing silky patterns against his skin, mouth blowing cool air over it and making him shiver. His weight pressed Qui-Gon into the sheets. Qui-Gon luxuriated in it, shifting his hips to ease his cock, which lay trapped beneath his body. 

Obi-Wan took his time, savoring every inch of Qui-Gon's back; by the time he reached Qui-Gon's ass, Qui-Gon could feel blood swelling his shaft again, slow and lazy like Obi-Wan's tongue. He shifted his thighs so that Obi-Wan's chest fit between them, trying to breathe, waiting for what he knew would come next. He was not disappointed; Obi-Wan licked along the cleft and then blew softly, tickling the fine hairs there and making Qui-Gon shiver. 

Then Obi-Wan's hands opened him and he buried his face in the pillow to stifle his moans as Obi-Wan's tongue slid wickedly down, centimeter by centimeter, teasing him with promise. He pushed back, begging, only to be thwarted; Obi-Wan blew over his entrance and he felt himself clench and pulse with frustration. 

"So greedy." Obi-Wan's voice was sultry, rich with passion. Obi-Wan kissed him just there, butterfly soft; Qui-Gon whimpered and received another teasing brush of lips, then a flutter of wet tongue. 

"Please, Obi-Wan!" He could articulate nothing else, it seemed, except broken noises of pleasure. 

Obi-Wan kissed him again more firmly, and Qui-Gon struggled to his knees, frustrated by his lack of control and his inability to move. Obi-Wan moved with him, warm breath along the cleft of his ass, strong hands helping position and brace his thighs. 

"Mmmm, yes," Obi-Wan murmured, and licked him harder, a long wet slide from his entry to his balls. Qui-Gon groaned, rotating his hips, pushing up and balancing on elbows and forearms. Every touch of Obi-Wan's mouth and breath quivered through him; his cock dangled free, its leather binding so taut as to be intensely uncomfortable, pushing his balls up around the base of his cock. 

Obi-Wan kissed his cock, licking around the leather strap before nipping at his balls. The unexpected sting of his teeth made Qui-Gon gasp, a noise that was embarrassingly close to a squeak. He struggled for composure, suddenly embarrassed at his neediness-- embarrassed at the position, which left him wide open and exposed, completely at Obi-Wan's mercy. 

He tried to shift his legs, but Obi-Wan's hands held him open, thumbs parting the cheeks of his ass and sliding into the creases of his thighs, resisting his attempt. Obi-Wan's face moved close, letting him feel the gust of his breath, then pressing a whisper of lips against his ass, kissing the crease, licking the kiss, biting the wet spot where his tongue had touched. 

Qui-Gon shook, helpless, waiting-- and the wet tongue teased him again, circling the entrance to his body, slow and torturous. Obi-Wan hummed with pleasure. Qui-Gon sensed his intent a moment before he moved-- tongue touching with purpose, tickling, pressing inward. 

"Yes, now, please, oh Force--" he heard himself begin to babble, pleas and exhortations, half-articulated endearments, ludicrous in the mouth of a Jedi Master, but all he could spare attention for was the wet flame spearing him, opening him by slow, velvet degrees. Obi-Wan's breath ruffled against his skin, and the wet, delightful mouth sealed over him, Obi-Wan's tongue fucking him open with slow, measured strokes-- on and on, patient and wicked as it twisted and turned, undoing all his control and destroying defenses he'd never even been conscious of. 

He collapsed into the pillow again, shuddering, face wet with tears-- glad of the leather strap that bound him. His cock was already alight with sensation, so hard it quivered, the discomfort of the strap balancing the liquid-hot pleasure of Obi-Wan's tongue dancing inside him. 

When Obi-Wan withdrew, lingering to brush a single wet kiss against him, he very nearly mewled with disappointment, but he had only a moment to wait before Obi-Wan's finger replaced his mouth, slick with gel. 

Qui-Gon shuddered as it pushed into him, a slow, patient glide, until Obi-Wan's knuckles rested firmly against his perineum, the finger as far inside as it would go. 

Obi-Wan waited, patient, until Qui-Gon shifted his hips, shoving back with urgent annoyance; he braced Qui-Gon with his free hand and slid his finger out, then back in again, testing Qui-Gon's resistance before pressing the boundaries farther. 

Against his will, Qui-Gon remembered-- remembered the Dramacore holos, remembered Obi-Wan's care and control even under coercion, and understood something of the strength that made him so patient now: the self-control and awareness he had developed in a crucible of torment. 

"Yes," he moaned, not wanting any ambiguity or uncertainty. "More." 

Obi-Wan nuzzled him in silent answer, beard crisp and warm against Qui-Gon's ass, and carefully introduced a second finger. Finding it went in easily, he ventured a third. 

It had been too long since Qui-Gon practiced his katas, and the third finger burned, stretching him. Qui-Gon struggled up to his elbows again, arms shaking, needing to move, needing to help his body adapt by exerting the small degree of control he still possessed. 

Obi-Wan fell still inside him, waiting, letting him acclimate. After a few moments Qui-Gon rocked his hips, shifting the fingers inside himself; Obi-Wan answered with the slightest thrust and retreat, increasing it by gentle gradations until his fingers moved easily inside Qui-Gon. 

Qui-Gon could feel sweat trickling along his ribs, his muscles taut with strain and anticipation; he pushed his hips back firmly and Obi-Wan answered by crooking his fingers, letting the tips curl against the sensitive spot inside. 

Qui-Gon bucked up with a strangled gasp, wanting to see Obi-Wan's face. "On my back now," he husked. "I need to see you." Obi-Wan withdrew his hand, wiping it on the torn top sheet, and helped Qui-Gon turn over, settling him amidst the tangle of blankets and pillows, arranging one under his hips. 

That was better; he could see Obi-Wan now, his skin gleaming slick with sweat, his face soft, expression abstract, lips curved in the faintest fond smile as he looked down at Qui-Gon. He could watch as Obi-Wan knelt, moving between his thighs; he could see the tenderness and the desire in that beloved face as Obi-Wan arranged his legs, hooking Qui-Gon's knees over his elbows and moving forward, positioning himself, then hesitating to look at Qui-Gon's face. 

"My Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon reached with a trembling hand, sliding his fingertips over Obi-Wan's narrow chest, touching the peak of one stiffened nipple. 

"Qui-Gon. Master," Obi-Wan breathed, and pressed forward slowly, exhaling, his lashes fluttering shut, his mouth falling open. He sheathed himself fully, a long, slow glide that left them both gasping and trembling. 

Qui-Gon tried to drag a deep breath into his lungs and failed, laboring for air as though drowning. He ran his hands restlessly across his own chest and belly, struggling to come to terms with the sensation inside his body, which intensified with every breath he drew. He couldn't hold still, squirming helplessly, his cock and balls blazing with the frantic need to come, but the leather strap bound him, preventing him from succumbing. 

Obi-Wan held himself very still, poised, his eyes raking over Qui-Gon dazedly as if he had forgotten where he was and who he was with-- or as if he were struggling to contain his passion, to keep his body in check long enough to memorize the picture of Qui-Gon writhing on his cock. 

Slowly Obi-wan began to move, his muscles flexing, and Qui-Gon whispered his name again-- "Obi-Wan!" reaching out to hook his hands behind his own knees, helping Obi-Wan support the heavy weight of his legs. 

Obi-Wan pressed forward, bending his waist, pushing his legs back, and Qui-Gon accepted his weight. 

"There," he gasped, when Obi-Wan found just the right angle, and Obi-Wan shifted, supporting himself, then withdrew and pushed in. Qui-Gon hissed, air escaping through his teeth, his fingers digging into the soft flesh behind the backs of his own thighs. 

His hands freed, Obi-Wan reached, tweaking Qui-Gon's nipple again, and Qui-Gon threw his head back with a sharp cry, the flesh hypersensitive. Obi-Wan yelped as Qui-Gon's body clenched him, then smiled, sensually triumphant, and began to thrust. 

Intense, burning waves of pleasure lapped over Qui-Gon; he rocked into Obi-Wan's rhythm, losing himself in the heat of Obi-Wan's eyes. So good, slow and powerful, Obi-Wan's body moving smoothly as he paced himself, building speed gradually until Qui-Gon was rocking hard beneath him, moaning softly at each press of Obi-Wan's hips. He felt lost in wonder at the expression on Obi-Wan's face: tender, yearning lips and burning eyes, tendrils of hair plastering to his forehead and his temples. 

He watched as Obi-Wan began to quiver, then abruptly stopped moving, tongue flickering out to wet his lips, and drew a long shuddering breath, mastering himself and absorbing the sensation, then paused for a lengthy count and started again-- slow once more, deliberate, building pleasure anew with his lack of haste. 

His thighs trembling, Qui-Gon locked his ankles behind Obi-Wan's back, shifting them both and freeing his hands; again Obi-Wan began to speed his strokes, catching his lip between his white teeth, thumbs rubbing over Qui-Gon's nipples, and again he stopped himself just before the crest, licking sweat from his own lips, his hands clenching to fists on Qui-Gon's belly as he struggled for control. 

"Beautiful," Qui-Gon murmured. "So beautiful, my Obi-Wan." 

Obi-Wan bent and kissed him, nearly pulling out; Qui-Gon strained his neck to reach the kiss, which ended all too soon due to the uncomfortable angle. 

This time Obi-Wan fucked him harder, still moving slowly at first, hips stabbing forward with sharp, purposeful jerks, and Qui-Gon lost his ability to watch, falling into himself as each snap of Obi-Wan's hips blazed searing ecstasy across nerves already strung taut, near to bursting. He reached out, fingertips stroking every part of Obi-Wan that he could reach-- face and throat, chest and belly, sharp hipbones, the place where their bodies joined. Obi-Wan responded by moving faster and pushing harder until Qui-Gon was forced to brace himself against the headboard. His cock flushed angry purple, leaking against his belly, but he did not free the strap, trusting in Obi-Wan's providence. 

This time Obi-Wan did not stop. He kept thrusting, mouth falling open, tiny, helpless sounds emerging from his throat. He reached for Qui-Gon's legs, pushing them higher until Qui-Gon could barely breathe. Their bodies slapped together sharply as he thrust, his rhythm starting to fail as pleasure overtook him. His gasps grew louder, hoarse in his throat, until he surged forward with a last powerful shove and lost himself, shuddering deep inside Qui-Gon's body. Spasms wracked him, holding him frozen in time for a long moment. 

Qui-Gon watched his bliss with awe, engraving it all on his mind as deeply as he could: Obi-Wan's expression, broken open and vulnerable, pure love and sweetness in his eyes; his lips, mottled red from the pressure of his own teeth; the gleam of sweat on his skin; the disarray of his hair; the way his nostrils flared and his throat worked as he came, totally lost in his pleasure; the way his body hitched and his muscles trembled; the way his strength deserted him in his extremity and he collapsed slowly atop Qui-Gon, all but boneless. 

Qui-Gon murmured broken love words to him, feeling their bodies separate as Obi-Wan softened, and he rolled them to their sides so that he could lower his legs before they cramped. Enveloping Obi-Wan in his embrace, he kissed him over and over, marveling at the way Obi-Wan's strength had turned fluid all at once, leaving him pliant and undone. 

Obi-Wan lay in his arms for a long moment, content to be kissed, before moving his hand to Qui-Gon's belly, circling it loosely around his cock. "What have we here?" His voice was low and sultry, his eyes sparkling with humor. His fingers worked the buckle, releasing the strap, and Qui-Gon sighed as Obi-Wan pressed him to his back again. 

"I think I'd better do something about this," Obi-Wan nipped at Qui-Gon's lips, then pushed himself up, hands splayed across Qui-Gon's chest. "Hold it up for me." 

Qui-Gon obeyed, sliding his hand under Obi-Wan's thigh and bracing his shaft; Obi-Wan moved into position lazily and sank down-- already prepared, slick and ready for Qui-Gon. He came to rest against Qui-Gon's legs, heaving a slow, languorous sigh. 

Qui-Gon stroked Obi-Wan's thighs, his hands unsteady; Obi-Wan was tight and sweet and perfect around him, holding his full length easily. 

Obi-Wan rode Qui-Gon leisurely, his lashes heavy, his every movement filled with delicious, sensual lassitude. Qui-Gon pushed up patiently, meeting the rocking of Obi-Wan's lithe body, content to let his second orgasm build more slowly than the first. He bent his knees and braced his heels on the bed, tilting Obi-Wan forward, and Obi-Wan sighed with pleasure, reaching to catch Qui-Gon's hands and lace their fingers together so he could balance himself against Qui-Gon's hands. 

"So good." Obi-Wan's eyes shone soft aqua in the firelight, pupils deep and dark. He added a subtle shimmy to his motions, which made Qui-Gon shiver and push up with growing enthusiasm, lifting them both off the bed as Obi-Wan completed each downstroke. Obi-Wan gave a low, breathy grunt of satisfaction, his fingers tightening. 

"Oh! Yessss. Harder." He let his head tip back, the long line of his throat working as he swallowed. Qui-Gon pushed up sharply and they broke rhythm, Obi-Wan stilling as Qui-Gon gave him a half dozen short, fierce strokes. Obi-Wan cried out, inarticulate, and Qui-Gon guessed his cock-head was pushing right at Obi-Wan's prostate, so he did it again, watching Obi-Wan's cock thicken and begin to lift up toward his belly. 

"Want you to fuck me over the comm table next," Obi-Wan moaned, his voice husky. "And up against the window. And in the bath. And against the wall. And over the pilot's chair in your ship. And on the table in the refectory." 

"Save at least one for tomorrow," Qui-Gon whispered unsteadily. "I'm an old man." 

"I'm just getting started." Obi-Wan panted softly, speeding the pace, his thighs flexing. Qui-Gon met him halfway, lifting up and dragging him down for a kiss; Obi-Wan moaned into his mouth, tongue swirling around his. 

"Want to try this on your knees?" Qui-Gon murmured against his lips, and Obi-Wan dismounted, kneeling for him; Qui-Gon moved up behind him and clasped his waist, dragging him backward as he lunged back inside, a single swift stroke that made Obi-Wan keen. "Fuck!" 

"As you wish." Qui-Gon pulled Obi-Wan up, tweaking the golden ring in his nipple, and thrust deep into him, unleashing his strength cautiously at first, then with growing confidence. 

"Harder, yes, like that--" Obi-Wan gasped, voice breaking, as Qui-Gon gave in and bent him back over, riding him hard. "Ah!" Qui-Gon wrung short, sharp cries out of Obi-Wan's throat, catching his slippery cock in a firm grip and pumping it fast. 

"Fuck, yes. Fuck!" Obi-Wan stammered, clutching at the pillow, his elbows quivering. "Master...!" 

Qui-Gon clutched Obi-Wan's hip with his left hand, refusing to let him collapse, and drove into him fiercely; Obi-Wan let out a low wail and writhed, his cock jetting pearly fluid onto the sheets, his muscles wringing Qui-Gon tightly and dragging his own orgasm out of him with unexpected suddenness. Qui-Gon heard their voices mingle, his shout hoarse and triumphant; then they collapsed together, Obi-Wan's back slick with sweat, his lungs struggling to draw breath under the weight of Qui-Gon's heavy body. 

"No, don't move," Obi-Wan gasped, catching his hand. "Want to hold you inside me." Qui-Gon buried his head in Obi-Wan's neck, biting softly, tasting salt, his cock still deep in Obi-Wan's body. They lay still, their breath slowing, until Qui-Gon shrank and slipped out; then he slid off Obi-Wan and gathered him up in his arms for a deep, lazy kiss, both of them half-asleep by the time it ended. 

Qui-Gon slid his hand over Obi-Wan's back and down along his ass, purring, sated; Obi-Wan drew a luxuriant breath and his lips moved softly against Qui-Gon's throat. "Finally," he mumbled, but Qui-Gon was already fading into sleep. 

*****

Yoda stood beside a table at the foot of the main stair, watching as the assembled Jedi waited in line, each one preparing to record his vote on the data pad that had been set up for the purpose. The Council would be made up of the six Jedi who received the most votes; then it, in turn, would choose its leaders. 

Obi-Wan nodded to Yoda before he made his choices; finished, he stepped aside to join the growing group of Jedi who had already voted and now lingered nearby to learn the results of their selection. 

He thought it was a foregone conclusion that Qui-Gon would be chosen for the Council, but he had his worries about what might happen after that. It was all but unheard of for a knight such as himself to be chosen as a Councilor, much less as Master of the Order, in spite of what Yoda might think. And he worried, too, about Qui-Gon's status-- though they had come here, though they knew of his sacrifices as well as his transgressions, had the Jedi fully accepted Qui-Gon? Did they see him as Obi-Wan and Yoda did? 

Fidgeting would benefit no one, so Obi-Wan kept his body still as the voting progressed, not looking at Qui-Gon, who stood slightly apart, as cool and aloof as ever-- though Obi-Wan noticed an unusual tendency to shift from foot to foot, as if Qui-Gon felt a certain mild discomfort in his lower body. 

Obi-Wan let his amusement lift the corners of his mouth, still looking carefully in a neutral direction; they had been rather late to arrive at firstmeal, and it had been for good reason. He didn't envy the housekeepers who would have to tend Qui-Gon's rooms this morning; "shambles" was a polite word for the wreck they had made of the bed, not to mention the bath. 

The voting finished, then they waited for the last of the remote votes to trickle in; the data pad chimed when its chrono countdown expired. Yoda lifted it with serene confidence. 

"Councilors of the Xinune Temple, these Jedi will be." He paused, gazing around the room, and Obi-Wan resisted the impulse to roll his eyes at the old master's sense of drama. "In order of votes from least to most: Master Wohta. Master Trebor. Knight Istae. Master Jinn. Master Ti. Knight Kenobi." 

A whisper arose throughout the room; Obi-Wan was glad to feel the optimistic response to the announcement, a pleased sensation resonating through the Force. Slowly, some pausing to deliver congratulations, the Jedi dispersed and left the six councilors alone to form a loose ring around Yoda. 

Yoda turned a slow circuit, studying each of the new councilors in turn, his ears raised high; Obi-Wan was pleased to see that he approved of the choices. Most of them were his own first choices-- each of them had arrived early and had undertaken important roles in securing and administering the facility before the downfall of the Sith. They had all maintained their activities in the days since. 

"The will of the Force is well-served this day." Yoda concluded his study, moving to join the circle. "Who now will lead this Council as Grand Master of the Xinune Temple?" 

Shaak Ti spoke first. "Master Jinn." 

"Master Jinn," Trebor concurred. 

"Knight Kenobi," Wohta differed firmly, and Istae echoed him. Obi-Wan blinked, startled. 

"You honor me." He bowed to the two of them. "But I must cast my vote also for Master Jinn." 

"Your vote, Master Jinn?" Yoda faced him serenely. 

Obi-Wan gazed at Qui-Gon in alarm, seeing the slight smile that quirked his mouth. Oh, no. No. 

"I must also choose Knight Kenobi, Master Yoda." Qui-Gon bowed low. 

Obi-Wan glared at him, contemplating a dozen varieties of murder. 

"Hrm." Yoda leaned on his stick. "Unexpected, this stalemate." His ears remained elevated and his eyes twinkled. "As Grand Master of the Coruscant Temple, independent observer of this proceeding, I propose a compromise. Knight Kenobi to be named Master of the Order, and by reason of experience, Master Jinn to be named Grand Master, both provisional upon the continued approval of this duly elected Council." 

"Agreed," Obi-Wan injected hastily, still glowering at Qui-Gon. 

"It is acceptable." Shaak Ti nodded. 

The others agreed as well after a moment's consideration, and Obi-Wan nearly collapsed with relief. 

"First among equals, you will be." Yoda gestured them all down, and they knelt before him. "Guide now these Jedi with insight and compassion, strength and wisdom. May the Force be with you." When he stepped back, they all rose, bowing deeply to him. 

"Much have you to do, no?" Yoda watched, austere, as four of the High Councilors departed, then lifted his gaze to Qui-Gon, pursing his lips. "And much have I to do, as well. Anxious, Master Windu will be, to hear the outcome of this vote." He cackled, jabbing his stick at Qui-Gon's shin. "Contact him, you will, and we will listen. Headache he will have, I think. Yes?" 

"Yes, Master Yoda." Qui-Gon glanced aside to Obi-Wan, who stifled his laughter behind his palm and followed them out, in search of the nearest holocomm. 

*****

Emotion, yet peace.  
Ignorance, yet knowledge.  
Passion, yet serenity.  
Chaos, yet harmony.  
Death, yet the Force. 

\--The Code of the Xinune Temple

********************************************

GLOSSARY

Abhaile: Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "home." The name of Qui-Gon's homeworld, according to me, since George didn't see fit to provide us with one. Let's not quibble over whether this is the noun or the adverb form of the word, shall we? If you feel the need, just go get a nice tall pint glass of Guinness and meditate on the willing suspension of disbelief until you feel better. If that doesn't work, try it again with the same amount of Bushmill's or Jameson. If you still want to argue about grammar after that, I'll totally take you up on it. 

Anait: A Djinn guard with one of the worst job duties you could ever get stuck with. He needs a new pair of undies. 

_Cac capaill:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "horseshit." Again, if you're stressing about there not being horses in a GFFA, I refer you to SciFi shows such as "Firefly" and invite you to relax. If that fails, pretend "capaill" means "bantha." Plus, you don't need to sell me death sticks. You want to go home and rethink your life. *sweeping hand gesture* 

_Ciach ort:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "damn you." 

Clan Failbhe: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. Pretty poor compared to equatorial clans, but one of the stronger ones in their immediate area. Led by Kelonaht. 

Clan Neishan: Qui-Gon's ancestral clan, now more or less extinct except for a few distant relatives who were mostly subsumed into Ruidhri. 

Clan Lathurna: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. By far the least powerful clan in their immediate area, under extreme threat of extinction due to starvation and attack from neighboring clans. Led by Sala. 

Clan Ruidhri: One of three clans that took over Qui-Gon's ancestral lands. Slightly more powerful than Failbhe. Pretty poor compared to equatorial clans, but one of the stronger ones in their immediate area. Led by some guy who gets, like, two lines. He's not important. Don't stress over him. Please note: this is NOT Majnun's clan; I never gave his clan an official name, so there. 

Dejarik: A strategy game, very like chess. You saw it played when Threepio told Artoo to let the wookiee win. See Wookieepedia 

Janu: A low-class Djinn sent to pick up Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from their landing platform. Black hair, etc. Think "really tall Maori." Racially representative of Lathurna, a minority clan. 

_Ki-Gün Djinn is ainm dom. Cad is ainm duit?:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "Qui-Gon Jinn is my name. What's your name?" 

Kelonaht: Taoiseach of Failbhe. I've based him on an older Clint Eastwood, just for the hell of it. GO AHEAD, JEDI PUNK. MAKE MY DAY! 

_Mo athair:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "my father." 

_Mo dhearthàir:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "my brother." 

Sala: The taoiseach of Lathurna. His look is based loosely on Sala Baker. 

_Taoiseach:_ Irish Gaelic (Djinn) for "leader" or "chieftain."


End file.
